Trouble

I swear I can dance.

I used to go out dancing all the time.

Not in like mini skirts and tube tops and high heels or anything like that ... just good fun dancing at good fun clubs with my friends.  One summer my sister-in-law and I spent our entire summer dancing every night, laughing at anyone who tried to talk to us, and eating ice cream and cake for supper.  For real.

Don't even get me started on how much I miss that metabolism.

Anyway - that's not my point.

My point is that I was a REALLY good dancer.  I swear.

I had all the moves and always looked totally awesome.  Because ... well ... I just did.  It's just a fact.

And I've always reminded myself of that as the years have passed and age has set in.  I tell myself that at least at ONE point in my life I was hot stuff and could dance like crazy and the reason everyone always watched ME at clubs was because of my pure awesomeness.

So on days when the muffin top is puffier than usual or my tall boots are harder to pull up or my arms wave goodbye long after I've stopped ... I remind myself that I used to be ... well ... hot.

And I could dance.

Which is really something because not everyone can.

And Charlie - who is so much like her Mommy (and that warms me to my core) - loves to dance.

So this morning when she asked to dance I couldn't resist and switched from the morning news channel to a music channel and Taylor Swift was singing away about someone being trouble when they walked in (hey Taylor, love you, but they are always going to be trouble if you can't hold your cards a BIT closer, k?) and Charlie jumped up and started dancing.

And I was like wow ... whaaat is up with that dancing.

It was horrible, terrible dancing.  Feet stomping, arms doing some weird Biggest Loser meets Bollywood action, bum out, upper body convulsing and head flinging side to side ... smiling the whole time.

Now, before you mentally jump all over me for being critical of her dancing, know that I was only thinking these things ... inwardly ... outwardly I was smiling and dancing with her and saying the proper Mommy things like, "Charlie, what a great dancer you are ... you have all the moves."

And then I said "wow, Charlie, where did you learn to dance like this?"

And Charlie said, "I dancing"

And I said, "I know you are!!"

And Charlie said, "I like dancing Mommy."

And I said, "that's nice ... you like dancing? with Mommy?"

And she said, "No ... I dancing like Mommy."

WHAT?

I don't think so.

I said, "NOOOOO Charlie, Mommy doesn't look like that when she dances.  Don't be silly.  You're doing a funny dance.  Mommy doesn't dance like that!!!!"  

And Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan in perfect unison replied, "yes you do Mommy."

Killer.

At least I still have good memories of the cake and ice cream.