I am mortified by dancing. More specifically, I'm mortified by my own dancing. It's bad enough that I avoid well-lit places when dancing. The only time I felt o.k. about it was at a very dark club full of black lights...until I realized that my white bra was glowing through my top and that all anyone in the club could see was this lumincent bra bobbing in almost-time to the beat. Tragic really. I could have totally had a career in off-beat bobbing. Or in marketing lumincent bras.
I've nothing more to add today. Partly because I've been ranting in my head (and in my car) all week long and partly because I've just sucked down another huge latte and the caffeine is short-circuiting any creativity into jittery limbs.
An Erinku:
tree
shamelessly
naked
on my lawn
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