Like her papa, my daughter has a healthy disdain for organized fun. I myself cannot stand being at a concert when a B-list celebrity demands that I "clap along now, y'all!" Why should I do that? I find it oppressive.
Susie's school danceathon was (typically) disorganized and puzzling. When I arrived, Dua Lipa was singing about her own private parts:
Ooh, my outfit so tight!
You can see my heartbeat tonight.
I can take the heat, baby; best believe...
That's the moment I shine.
Susie and I stood together while a stranger explained that we would be performing the chicken dance, the butterfly, the cha-cha slide, the robot, and the twist. I'm sure if I'd read my emails carefully, I'd understand the reason for all of this. My daughter spotted a moth--and wandered away from the crowd. She spent the hour talking to the moth, which reminded me of my "league baseball" days. (I would pick dandelions in the outfield.)
One thing I learned was that the chicken dance has several distinct phases--representing the beak, the wings, and the rump of the chicken. If I'd known this fact before, I hadn't *really known* it. Some dance routines are better than others--and I will withhold my comments about "the twist."
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