M likes to listen to the local Top 4o radio station in the morning, as he eats his pancakes. While I’m not a huge fan of Rhianna or Kesha (I’ll take Springsteen any time), I do like to dance. No matter what the beat, my feet will start tapping, followed closely by my hips. In a matter of seconds, I’m in full dance mode.
This of course, drives M crazy. Apparently, I’m not a very good dancer. Plus, according to M, it’s embarrassing. I have no idea who’s going to see me behind a closed door, but you never know. So most mornings, our kitchen is a no-dancing zone (at least when M’s looking).
But tomorrow’s my birthday. And I can dance. All day. I can’t wait.