Thursday, January 1, 2009
I hate dancing. Like, hate it. I feel so lame and uncomfortable on a dance floor. I have no rhythm. I have no style. And I don't know many dance songs. People have physically dragged me onto dance floors at weddings...and while I'm trying to tap my feet and snap my fingers along to a Will Smith song and keep a fake smile on my face, my mind immediately starts plotting a murder/suicide...I'm so miserable, I want to die.
But not tonight. Tonight I danced. It was awesome. I said I was going to, I made up my mind, and I did. Yes, I felt lame and uncomfortable at first, then I just had a lot of fun, and even experienced some unhoped-for freedom in that sea of sweaty people; I don't think anyone can grasp the significance of the mental barrier I have just freed myself from.
And...I did it in 4.5 inch heels!!! (Seriously though, how great are these shoes? Rosey-champagney colored satin and black patent leather?!) I'm kind of proud of myself for dancing in these incredibly uncomfortable shoes for hours, and liking it. Is that okay?
It's going to be a good year, guys. I can feel it. (I can't feel my toes, though.)