So bite me, maybe
I have a confession: I will shake my booty to any stripper-licious beat that comes on. Seriously. I don't care what kind of horrible "degrading to women" lyrics, or saccharine poppy nonsense is being sung over the beat. If there's a beat, I'm a one-woman dance party. Every. Time.
So, it should come as no surprise to those who know me well when just such a thing happened last week at a friend's house. We were all sitting around the kitchen bar while I cooked supper and "Call Me Maybe" came on the playlist.
Now, it was not my playlist, so I can't be blamed for its presence. But I have to admit, once it was there, I didn't mind it. No I most certainly did not. In fact, what I did was start shakin' what my CrossFit squats gave me all up and down that kitchen. And a couple of ladies joined me.
But one dear, sweet friend proceeded to ridicule me until well into the following week. And to that I said Pshaw and fiddlesticks! Or something close to that. I can't be sure; I'd consumed a fair bit of rum at that point.
I do remember that I refused to accept the premise of her argument that I should be ashamed for enjoying the world's catchiest pop anthem a la kitchen dance party style. I say that's crap. I say there's not enough dancing in the world and anywhere a dance beat presents itself, you should dance to that shit, yo.
Throw coolness to the wind, get your groove on and boogie down. Because one day, if we're lucky, we'll all be so old we'll need hip replacements and walkers. Then won't we feel ridiculous for not shakin' our asses when we had the chance?