I Can’t Dance…The “Bad Boy” Remix

A couple of years ago, while driving home snapping my fingers to a CD I had a shocking revelation. I can’t dance!!! Yep, you read correctly. At the tender age of 40ish I realize that I can’t keep a beat on my feet…or in a seat. As if posting this blog post two years ago wasn’t enough, the blatant reminder that I can’t dance further hit home while I was at a comedy show and one of my favorite songs out of New Orleans from the late 90’s came on. I tried my best to do as the song instructed. But I couldn’t anymore. I literally couldn’t do it. (I won’t tell you the song, but I’ll just say that the rapper’s name is very child-like, Wodie…LOL!)


I started reflecting on the other little “secrets” that make me Me. And after all these years I’ve realized that they no longer embarrass, but I choose to embrace.


1. I Can’t Dance-I used to be able to sweat my hair like the best of them, but somehow, somewhere that ability to boogie escaped me. Initially in the car and comedy club this bothered me, but I have to be real, God probably dissolved my dancing so I wouldn’t use it for evil…tehehehe!
2. I Can’t See in Sunglasses-There’s not ever a threat of me being a rapper or a 90s style Diddy/Bad Boy diva! I can’t see with their main accessory. Sunglasses and I don’t get along!!! Ask me how I know. The purpose of this repurposed post is to share my latest reminder. While walking into the dry cleaners with my fresh pair of $6 Sugar Bowl gas station glasses I took a few, gingerly steps, twisted my foot something fiece and am updating this post with crutches to my left and right. Yep, sunglasses and me are that bad. But I’m okay:)
3. I Waste Food (Often!)-Food is one of my best friends so much so that I started a new blog at http://www.angelaeatstheham.wordpress.com. So much so also that food likes to go where I go. 90% of the time I eat, what I eat ends up on me. At first this used to really bother me given the fact that I’ve taught dining etiquette and was voted Most Poised in high school, but then I realized this was God’s way of making sure I remembered that I’m nowhere near perfect. Plus, the leftovers serve as great conversation pieces as I get to lavishly recall my tasty meal and the mess it made.
4. I Can’t Do a Cartwheel-I’ve never felt the freedom of flipping on the grass with the wind beneath my wings. I’m tall. I’ve always been tall. (I’m scary. I’ve always been scary.) There’s something about being really tall as a child, that for me, just wouldn’t let my legs do what they needed to do to make it over my head. Does it bother me now? Why would it? Until they change the height for Olympic gymnasts to 5’9 I’m good.
5. I Made Cs-Surprise!!! People often say, “You’re so smart”. I agree:) But honey, nobody told that to my report cards and GPAs. They did not get the “she’s smart” memo! It used to bother me that I was average academically. Especially after that lovely less than 2.0 GPA my freshman year of college. But then I thought, part of that was my fault. I hated to study, and I liked Kappa parties!!! And the other part I believe developed a sense of compassion in me to dig deeper into people to see what’s really there and to seek out those who might fall under the radar, but are really leaders in the making.

6. I’m different. The strangest of things tickle me to my core. I’m unapologetically goofy. I have a sense of humor that’s a hodge-podge of a bunch of personalities and I’m embracing in my older age that I’m different.

So there you have it. I dished my own dirt again. Of course there’s more, but a lady never tells it all. Even as I typed (and updated this blog post) I giggled to myself thinking about the things I just shared and some of their companions that will never come to light. They are what makes me unique. They have nothing to do with what the world would say makes one special, but I tell you, I felt extra special with each letter I pecked. They make me who my Daddy made me and that makes me special.

PS…I wish I could get up and do a “I had a revelation” celebration dance, but you know I can’t…smh. Come to think of it,. I guess I’ll stick to SMH (Shaking My Head) rather than SMH (Shaking My Hips)! (There I go, cracking myself up again, which I guess reaffirms my welcomed goofy.)



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