One two cha-cha-cha.
I had to "help out" at my uncle's studio for his annual Christmas party showcase tonight.
What kind of a studio?
A dance studio.
A ballroom dance studio.
The following is a transcription of my thoughts throughout the night.
6:07pm: What the hell am I doing here?
6:16pm: This is gonna be the gayest night, evar.
6:33pm: So many geezers.
7:02pm: At least I'm getting fed.
7:03pm: This tastes horrible. I'm gonna have to get something on the way home.
7:19pm: Man, you haven't lived 'till you've seen people slowdance to "Silent Night." Now I can die in peace.
7:25pm: I can't believe Adrian was going to walk home today. What's up with that Boy?
7:37pm: I wonder what she's doing. I wonder if she's sitting home wondering about me. God I'm so pathetic.
Yadda yadda yadda.
My uncle is an awesome dancer. I had seen him teach lessons and stuff, but today was the first time I actually saw him perform in front of people. He's crazy good. Not bad for a guy in his 40's. How did he get so good? It can't be in the genes, no one else in our family can dance worth a crap. He must have been adopted. He's gotta have some black genes in there somewhere, only black people can move like that.
All I know is that if I ever lose my sanity and decide to learn ballroom dancing, I can learn from the best.