I’m going to a wedding this month (not mine). I expect to be the unofficial evening entertainment.
Dinner is over and the father-daughter dance is done. The utterly mortifying wedding party games have reached their drunken conclusion. Now, it’s time for a few hours of loud, loud music and sweaty middle-school style dancing. It’s time for grandma to turn off her hearing aid and take a nap, and for the rest of us to pop an ibuprofen and fight boredom with shouted conversations across the frosting-smeared table-tops.
At least that’s what most of us have come to expect. But I’m here to save the day, in my own way.
While the inebriated and energetic grind and gyrate, I’ll grab Uncle Bill with the twitching feet for a jitterbug. I’ll invite grandpa to join me in a stately waltz. I’ll coach a shy college kid in the basics of the salsa—and wind up teaching an impromptu group class in the corner. I’ll keep things interesting on the floor to keep grandma awake. I might even talk the DJ into playing the Kermit the Frog version of Rainbow Connection.
I am…Ballroom Babe.
I need a cape.