Good morning! Holy monkey-bones Batman! It’s happened…my body has hit friggin’ middle-age! ACK!!! Stupid music…it should come with a WARNING! label. “Women over the age of 40 should NOT attempt to dance like Shakira. The knowledge that you’re physically over-the-hill and a possibly dislocated hip could result.”
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| The sexy? Yeah, it came right before this... |
Oh yeah…it’s one of THOSE morning. *deep ouchy sigh* I’m REALLY reconsidering my stance on “age appropriate” ratings on CD’s. Because obviously? I’m too darned old for this music…That whole “twisty-wiggle-thrust-y” move…just about claimed my ability to walk.
And how would I have explained THAT to whoever found me in a pretzel-pose on the floor? Or better yet, the ER Doc tasked with putting my “wiggle” back where Nature intended it to be?
“Well, you see Doc…it’s like this. I was listening to “Hips Don’t Lie” and my hips? LIED! They told me it would be cool if I did that wicked little belly-dance, my-spine-is-constructed-of-liquid move that Shakira does in the video. And the next thing I knew, I was on the floor with my leg that should be HERE, way over THERE…”
My voice would drop to a nervous whisper, forcing the poor guy to lean in closer to catch what I was saying as my eyes darted furtively around the room, making sure we weren’t being spied on. “And ya know what? I could swear it was pointing at me with the big toe…and LAUGHING!”
That right there would be when the nice guys in the white coats showed up with the five-point restrains. (But they’d only need four of them, since the Doc hadn’t yet gotten around to re-locating my darned hip!)
Lucky for me that the kitchen counter is of sturdy construct, since that’s what actually caught my almost-fall and kept me half-standing while I did the whole “writhe in agony like an up-right snake with epilepsy” routine. I’m just glad the left-over cake I’d stuffed in my mouth only moments before worked to stifle the steady stream of moans and profanity that I was unconsciously emitting! (Hey! I needed the energy from the cake to fuel my dance-fest. Don’t judge me!)
And does anyone happen to know if there’s a hamstring running up the side of your belly? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I pulled that too…
I’m betting right about now, all of you that have been hanging out for a while are going, “Umm…Don’t you have a bum right leg that makes you walk like a zombie or penguin with hemorrhoids? How, in the name of all that is holy, were you dancing!?!”
Sexy, my friends! That’s how! I was dancing darned sexy. Wiggle-drag-hop-trip-stumble-wiggle-fall-over. It was a total display of AWESOME! *tiny wistful smile at the memory of the moment* Right up to the point the screaming started, anyway.
I’m wondering if anyone would notice the smell if I filled the tub with extreme muscle-rub and climbed in? Maybe I’ll just grab a couple bags of frozen peas and duck-tape them on so I’m still at least partially mobile…
May your day be filled with care-free dance-fests, good music (age appropriate of course, for your own safety), and no pulled belly hamstrings. (Oooouuuucccchhhhhh!!!!!)
