Saturday, April 9, 2016

Too Fat To Dance

Every day is Groundhog Day in my world, just as long as I can avoid mirrors. I wake up every single day and believe that I am 25. In fairness to my mind, that was an age when I was young, spry, and could do the splits from a 4-foot dance floor drop. If I were to try that now you wold hear my knee cartilage pop like milk on Rice Krispies.

My knees being arthroscopically probed.
All of this doesn't mean that I don't try to give it plenty on the dance floor that is the space where my cat isn't stretched out on the living room carpet. I love music, I love to dance, but I can only embrace one of those hobbies without going into cardiac arrest. You guys decide which is which.

Tonight is a dance party night, but my knees and heart tell me to shut shit down and act my age. My head rules the roost in this kingdom, though, which make tomorrow a day sponsored by Ben-Gay.


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