I be a Dancer

I be a Dancer
because anything counts in the contemporary category.

So my yoga instructor told me I had good extension. I wasn't really sure what was going on, to be honest. She was coaching us through some sort of strange series of poses, probably with a name like the double downward dog lift, which involved extending one leg behind you. Apparently I pointed my toes well or something. Apparently it's something that dancers do*.

So she asked if I was a dancer.

The next thing that came to my mind was a somewhat incriminating photo on Facebook of me, drunk, performing what could be the contemporary variation of the sprinkler. It's quite the sight.

Pretty much, I dismissed my innate dancer qualities with laughter. I joked about it for days after. I still joke about it. Heck, I'm joking about it right now, right?

Wrong. Because I am a dancer now. Or at least I've danced, which technically makes me a dancer (meaning one who dances, which I have done. Go grammar, go!).

Yet again on Facebook, there is now a video of me and ten friends performing a choreographed dance number to It's My Life. There are spins, high kicks, fist pumps, jazz hands, and even a brief Thriller interlude. We pretty much have every single base covered, there; ball room, contemporary, lyrical, jazz, Michael Jackson, Jersey Shore. We did it all.

That's how multi-talented I am.

I even taught dance a few weeks ago. To nurses. There I was, at the front of a classroom, barking out the 8-count and punctuating it with dance commands. It sounded a little like this:

"Run-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight! Bump-two-three-four-clap-six-seven-eight! Jazz square-three-four-five-six-seven-eight! One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight! Snaps-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight!"

For half an hour I counted beats and taught people to dance. I think I have found my calling.

And who would suspect the dance teacher of being a vodka-drinking fruit ninja, anyways?

*the only reason I know this is because I watched the second season of SYTYCD (which I always call Es Why Tee Why See Dee, but really fast) religiously. Travis deserved to win. Not Benji. Me and my sister are still deeply upset all these years later.

The End

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