Once I realized I was never going to be a ballerina, I gave up on my love of dance forever. No, I never took ballet classes, or tap, or pole. I just always wanted to be one of the girls who did.
And then came Saturday Night Fever. I found the dance floor in 1977. I was sweet sixteen. We danced the night away at the Bel Rae Ballroom on Thursdays for the 18-and-under-only nights. They had a rotating mirrored ball hanging from the ceiling and the whole shebang. Say what you will about the 70s. Disco allowed me to finally become the dancer I always knew I was. I practiced the hustle in my basement, listening to the SNF soundtrack over and over . . . and over.
These days, aside from the occasional wedding, at which I will need at least three drinks before I do much more than tap my toe, I’m rarely found on a dance floor. However, I do find playing some good music can help get me up and moving when I’m not looking forward to it. I have a whole playlist of cleaning songs, guaranteed to get me up and dancing, duster in one hand, vacuum in the other . . .