I apologise if I startled you on the walking trail beside the curling club yesterday.
It was Mariah Carey's fault.
You see, I loaded my Christmas playlist onto my ipod yesterday and before I knew it, there she was, "All I want for Christmas is YOOOOOOUUUU!" with all the backup vocals and soaring stuff. It's a guilty pleasure and my favourite modern Christmas song; I just couldn't help myself.
I am well aware that my 'jazz hands' aren't exactly Broadway worthy, and I suspect my strange kick-ball-change dance moves looked more like a seizure than syncopation. Even my dog gave me a sideways look as I sashayed, shuffled and yes, twirled on the trail. But if only you could see how I felt inside as I made a stupid spectacle of myself, if only you could see how I might have looked, if only I could translate what I heard and felt into movement, you'd have been much more impressed.
If I ever get a superpower, that's the one I want: to be able to let other people see what it is we weirdoes feel like when we're doing strange stuff that doesn't make much sense.
Wouldn't it be great to hear how the off-key sound to themselves or know how the awkward and spastic feel as we dance?