I Hope You Dance …
As I was escorting my Mom to her annual booby smash (you call it a mammogram, I call it a booby smash) I mentioned that I was going dancing with my friends at a birthday party this weekend. (Actually I probably won't be going now because I suddenly don't have a date and I'm tired of pretending shit like that doesn't matter. Because sometimes it's like Whitney said, "I wanna dance with somebody…" but whatever.)
My Mom says to me, "Do you know who could dance?" I assumed this was going to be a personal plug for her bygone glory days. Don't get me wrong, given the right tune my Mom will still wiggle it just a little bit but she's not currently a ladies night regular at the Copa.
She said, "Do you know who could really dance? Your Grandmother." (INSERT LOUD RECORD NEEDLE SCRATCH HERE) What the what? I've heard many stories about my maternal OG but this was not one of them. This was heretofore unknown information. I looked at my Mother in astonishment and said, "Nana could dance? Nana? As in Nana, Nana?" My Mom said, "Yes!"
Now, this could have been the Xanax talking but come to think of it, there was some anecdotal evidence to support it. I'd heard that my Mom had been quite the party girl, which went a long way to explaining why she was so strict with me. (Ain't that always the way?) And so I knew that I'd gotten my cut-a-rug-ability from her. But for some reason it never occurred to me that of course MY Mother got it from HER Mother.
What a multigenerational party that would've been. "Cent! Five cent! Ten cent! Dollar!"
I will be appearing on the No Name Super Storytellers Show – Mother's Edition, 7 PM, Tuesday, May 3, 2016. I'll be telling a story, but it won't be this one. :-)