Schmutzie Dancing Is Not Good For Kittens Or Other Living Things
Here's a video of Toni Basil performing "Hey Mickey" live on the Joan Rivers show in 1987. It will get you into the mood for what follows:
I was dancing the other day in my living room, because I tried to do one of those free workout videos that comes with our cable television package, and the woman was all Stretch like this, and I tried, but she had longer limbs or maybe less limbs or something, because I tried, but instead of looking all kind of languid and relaxed like she did with that swan-like neck of hers, I was busy trying to gauge exactly where my feet were while maintaining what felt like a completely unnatural posture, and I bashed my hand into the coffee table while stumbling sideways and ended up sitting on the yoga mat that I've used exactly seven times in six years and swearing at the fact that I hadn't cut my toenails, because, damn, it hurts when you get your big toe nail jammed into the skin on the heel of your other foot. For once, it's a good thing that I don't get pedicures, because if my heel skin weren't as thick as a yak's hoof, I would have been bleeding all over the floor.
By that point, the exercise lady had already moved on to the cardio portion of the segment, but I was busy extracting my toenail from my foot, so I figured that that exercise video and I were just not going to work out. I still hadn't given up on getting some kind of movement out of my body that day, so I turned on some music and started dancing. I was really getting into it, too. I started with the basic elementary school side-to-side step, and then I bumped it up with some hip-swinging, and pretty soon I was fist-pumping and doing that 1960s thing where you alternate throwing your arms up and down straight in front of you. I knew that I looked like an idiot, and not just because I was completely naked but for the t-shirt I'd slept in the night before, but it felt good to be shaking everything everywhere, so I kept at it.
The song I'd started on my laptop ended, but that didn't deter me, because I'd just remembered that Toni Basil song from the 1980s that goes oh, mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey, mickey!, which is the song that went to the aerobics dance number a bunch of girls and I did in grade six for a school assembly. Dance aerobics was big in those days, and a few of the girls' mothers had exercise records with women on the front with permed hair wearing sweatbands everywhere but their torsos and shimmering spandex tights, so we thought our teacher was so cool when she got us together to work out a dance number using all our aerobics moves from gym class. It wasn't even the real "Hey Mickey" song, either but the one that was covered by the Minipops. This was the early 1980s, though, and kids were really far away from being savvy back then. We were all It's pop music! and Jazzercise!, and then we teased and moussed our hair up really fluffy, threw on some neon headbands, and spent our recess time for two weeks bouncing around backstage to practice for our big performance, which was pretty big, because our school had over five hundred kids in it from kindergarten up to grade eight. At the time, I thought that the reason they kept me in the middle of our formation was that I was so awesome, but really, it was for visual balance, because I was the shortest, and also because I was so horrible. I might have been in the middle, but I was also always positioned at the very back of the stage. Short plus back of the stage equalled completely hidden from view. Whatever, I felt like the most awesome aerobic dancer ever.
So, back in the present in my living room, "Hey Mickey" came into my head, and I started using some of those old aerobics moves, because it felt so fun and right, even though it was probably hideous and really wrong, but, whatever, I felt like I was on fire, or maybe that was just the hand that I'd bashed into the table earlier. At any rate, I was hopping and kicking and pumping my arms, and then Lula started to cry from the sofa. I tuned her out, because she's really vocal and kind of slutty, but then she got louder and more insistent, so I opened my eyes and saw that her eyes were huge and round, and she was backing up along the couch cushions like she was too scared to run away but thought maybe she could make it out of this obviously dangerous situation without getting hurt. I realized that I was terrifying the hell out of our little cat with my less-than-fabulous dance moves and that I was also almost entirely naked and that, crap, I was in full view of both our living room bay window AND our kitchen window flapping my butt cheeks back and forth, and I started laughing really hard, which only resulted in my out-of-control limbs becoming more tragically out-of-control, and I suddenly fell down on the yoga mat in extreme pain, because I pinched a nerve right where the front of my left thigh meets my hip. Lula screeched and ran for safety.
And that is pretty much why I walk like a crippled chicken now if I've been sitting too long. All apologies to Lula. The End.
Lula, in the dark in the morning after I increased the brightness and contrast a hell of a lot so that you could see her face