Our DJ, bless her heart, tried to stick to our selections, but she was bombarded with requests. She gave in to the chicken dance. Lots of people flocked to the dance area and got silly. I did. But perhaps that's because I have a fantasy that I'll be dancing the funky chicken on our 75th wedding anniversary. Then, Bigbad and I moved off as the obligatory Electric Slide happened and the Cupid Shuffle and then, the coup de gras to our beautiful music selections, the Macarena. Really. We were married in 2008. I want to shake the people who are actually dancing in the photos. Really.
Bigbad and I reminisce and we think about how much money we could have saved by just having an Ipod randomly shuffle through a playlist. We would have had our songs. Forget dancing, we would have had pleasant conversation and our songs for the background.
But among some of these horrid dances the DJ allowed, there was a request for a polka. Bigbad Italian grandfather grabbed my maid of honor (who runs a dance studio like a beast). They swirled around with as much grace and ease as a polka affords. Everyone stood around just watching the two of them, perfect strangers, drinking that elixir of life. There was a chorus of laughter-- cackling, belly laughs, hoots.
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