Dancing with Myself

I have a pretty ridiculous after-work habit that I probably shouldn't share with all seven people who read this blog.

When I get home, after I toss my keys, purse and shoes, I immediately switch on the iPod connected to speakers in my living room. Some days the music is simply background to whatever I'm doing- washing dishes, getting dressed to go out, blogging- but on other days (and this is the embarrassing part) I'll dance. In front of the giant full-length mirror leaned against our living room wall, I'll blast something peppy and dance literally like nobody's watching...because if they were I'd likely have to skip town out of embarrassment.

Despite my South American blood, I'm not exactly the smoothest mover. I can hold my own at wedding receptions, a cocktail or three deep into the evening, but otherwise it's just a lot of sudden wiggles and spinning. In the privacy of my tiny New York living room to Beyonce's "Single Ladies", hours before my roommate gets home from work, I occasionally let it all hang out.

Yesterday after getting home, I let the iPod go to shuffle and on my way to the kitchen heard the first few beats of Arcade Fire's "No Cars Go". I had no choice. I ran back into the living room, cranked the volume to maximum and started bouncing around, singing at the top of my lungs.

A couple minutes into it, I caught my reflection in the mirror and literally fell to the couch laughing at myself and the move I was attempting in total seriousness: a combo of crouching my legs and waving my arms around my ears.

Nobody was there to make fun of me so a blog post seemed absolutely vital.

You're welcome.