Day 3, Monday- Painting with an iPod.
I realized tonight that my neighbors are much closer at this house than at the last one. I am also forced to deal with another terrible truth.
I am a horrifically bad dancer. I move like a epileptic chicken on a hotplate in a centrifuge. I have the rhythm of a tree sloth after a major head injury.
Of course, I’m just trying to be nice. In reality, my dancing is much worse. I was not being fair to either the chicken or the tree sloth.
The point is this: when shaking your groove thang, folks such as myself would do the world a favor to close the damn door. I need to remember that just because I have an iPod with (as the kids who are now drawing pensions say) groovy tunes, I am still a big bald man better suited to being a middle linebacker than a Rockette.
Those neighbor kids may need therapy, the lady across the street may have stifled vomit, but at least the entry is primed.
2 Comments:
I think you're too hard on yourself. You move faster than a sloth with a head injury. You're much more like a graceful gazelle with four broken legs.
PFFT... IGNORE your wife. UM CARRIE... be nice to the man, he's BLED for you! :)
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