My ex-husband used to say to me, “Angie.” That’s what he called me, Angie. “Angie,” he’d say, “you can dance to an alarm clock.”
He was right. I can. I was born with rhythm. Do not confuse what I just said with I was conceived via the Rhythm Method. Okay? That is not what I said. What I said was my rhythm is DNA deep. I did not learn it. It is simply there.
So, when I hear music or any rhythmic pattern say from a train on a track or whatever, my body naturally starts moving. Often I’m not even aware I’m dancing. This rhythm of mine has gotten me in trouble, cranked up party fun, and caused people to laugh. Which brings us to the title of this article.
I was having my Waffle House cheesy eggs on the side with onions and ham this morning (no raisin toast or scattered and covered) when this fella put some money in the jukebox and up cranked this song:
I know, right? Isn’t if freaking awesome? Now, you got to understand that when I go out dancing and this song comes on, you better just not even think of holding on to me as I’ve got my own little choreographed movements to it. I’ve danced to it so often I don’t even think about the movements. They just happen.
Okay. Here I am. Waffle House. Cheesy eggs. Reading a book. Sipping my coffee and WORD UP! WHOOT-WHOOT! And here goes my body, do my dance, do my dance, do my dance for me while sitting and still reading and sipping coffee.
I will not describe for you here the reactions of the other diners as you probably already know what those are.
My only wish is that nobody was filming it, but God help me if right after that song ended James Brown came on funking it up all over the Waffle House with this song:
Dang. Where’s a man’s belt buckle when you need one to shine?