Caught Jazz-Handed

Every now and then I’m known to break out into what a very small number of people would call dancing. This isn’t a predictable phenomenon; the conditions under which it occurs vary widely. The result is generally the same. Half of my audience is amused and the other half feels awkward. Today was no different.

We decided that despite the cold and the wind, the sun was too tempting to avoid and it was a good decision because we had a great time. The Outer Cape is a nice place to spend an afternoon walking, hiking, or biking. It’s also a great place to dance in the woods. So I did.

The dance evolved quickly. First, an odd sort of strut. Something reminiscent of a shore bird. Then my hands began to rise at my sides as though I was about to part the red sea and something amazing happened: jazz hands. Then the strut and the jazz hands combined and just as I started to wiggle my butt a jogger came up behind my wife and I and politely smiled as if to say, “I’m so glad I’m going to run past this scene.” My dance concluded abruptly.

The moral of the story is that if you’re going to do something ridiculous, assume someone is watching.


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