They're all crazy...

In keeping with my reality T.V. infatuation, I would like to talk tonight about dancing. Yes, dancing. As in “Dancing With the Stars” or more appropriately, “Dancing With Mike”. This post will not be long, as I can only make fun of myself for a certain period of time. Usually, this time lasts somewhere just under an hour. (It should only be 30 minutes truthfully, but I still look down at the keys when I type. Oh get off your throne, you do too, admit it.)

Let me tell you a little about my “game” as a youngster before I give you the low down on our first dance and all that that entails. My game began way back as a wee tike and manifested itself as a cocky, dumb, not really as important as I thought I was undergrad. As a youngster my game was limited due to having to actually speak. You know to hold a conversation; I actually had to have words come out of my mouth. Most often they were aimed at some young girl who didn’t know what was coming. I could definitely manage a good fake yawn and cough here and there, but frequently the words were very, very far behind or simply hidden in the continued yawn / cough sequences. Often the sentences went like the following. I will insert Sarah’s name for mass appeal…

“Hhhh Hh Hi Sarah, how are you (yawn) doing? I mean how are you doing today? It’s a (cough) nice weather day today. Right? I mean it’s really nice when (yawn and cough) the wind blows you know? Basically I, well, I, I like your hair”.

It’s a very nice weather day?? I like your hair?? My God in Heaven, I had a zero percent chance of getting any girl to even walk to the backstop with me at recess. Forget holding hands or any physical touching at all. That was absolutely gone when the first yawn / cough appeared. I got better as I got older, but never was fantastic by any means.

Then, somewhere in the late 90’s, the sea’s parted, and all was salvaged. Enter AOL instant messenger. No sounds were needed! All I had to do was type. That’s it! I could run my game all while sitting at my computer unshowered and disheveled. “Game” took on a whole new meaning for me as I devised a plan to get girls to come over or simply hang out.

Now I knew full well I was no Michael Jackson. Share the same name, yes. Share the same ability to bend in ways men shouldn’t be able too, no. However, in my eyes, I could slow dance better than any man alive. I was champion of doing the left foot then right foot move which guided the senseless female in circles for the full duration of an R-Kelly CD. ("12 play" folks. If you don’t know, then Itunes can help you understand.) I kid you not, I won over many a female with the simple IM plea of “Come dance with me, please”. I was also pretty persuasive in my ways. I used humor, (rather than looks) to brainwash these ladies into the slow and sultry steps I had perfected. AOL instant Messenger had given me the key, and all I had to do was open the door.

You may be thinking, “How does this relate to your first dance Mike”? Well, let me tell you. The first dance is a 2 and a half-minute uncomfortable version of a train wreck any way you slice it. If I take no dance lessons, I feel that I can fall back on my perfected slow dance two-step and pull off an emotional and stylish version that is passable. With dance lessons, I believe I will look like an ass at best. What you folks don’t know is Sarah is an incredible dancer. She was a ballet dancer, captain of her high school cheerleading squad, and later member of her college dance team. Not even Fred Astaire in the flesh could help me here. I stand no chance at looking even remotely agile unless I manage to sell her on the “AOL IM circular two-step”. So, although we have finally decided on a first dance song, we are still in the throws of negotiating just how that first dance will look.

Although I do think that I will look more idiot than elegant, in my heart I know that it won’t matter since Sar and my love is stronger than any amount of left feet. Let alone, it’s only one dance, right? So the people in attendance get a good laugh, no big deal. Most of them will be too drunk to even remember who’s wedding they are attending. Only one problem. Along with the DJ, and the flowers, and the string quartet, and all else wedding, we have booked a videographer. A man whose sole purpose in life is to tape a first dance full of utter embarrassment. Alas, what I am I left to do? Well let me tell you. I close my eyes and I trust that the “game” that allowed me too woo Sar in the first place will shine through and my talent at the ‘circular two-step” will win over all in attendance.

I’m ready…for lessons…