♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing in the moonlight… ♪ ♪ ♫
♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing with myself… ♪ ♪ ♫
♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing through life… ♪ ♪ ♫
♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing in the street… ♪ ♪ ♫
♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing in the starlight… ♪ ♪ ♫
♫ ♪ ♫ Dancing alone… ♪ ♪ ♫
It seems to me all lyricists of the world hate me. Why do they have to write songs that even talk about something like Dancing? *sob* They touch an exposed nerve here 😦 When someone mentions Dancing, I can ♫ ♪ ♫ Crash and Burn… ♪ ♪ ♫ Ahh! At least one lyricist does not hate me, crash and burn, it is.
I have had a long association with the torture called Dancing. Long and horrific. Years ago, somehow I convinced myself that dancing on stage is not that bad. I practiced for hours and hours, grimaced through all my classmates laughing at me, but carried on and put my best foot forward. 8 of us guys were doing Bhangara (which I earlier presumed – quite stupidly – to be the easiest form of dance) and the guy who was dancing with me was also a first-time dancer. He was all arms and legs, hyperactive, and no co-ordination. I was stiff as a scarecrow, hardly moving, and no co-ordination. D-Day arrived! And we danced in front of the whole school, with all teachers present. I don’t know how I danced, how I endured myself on the stage, but I remember one thing, we were the most photographed people! I hope our photographs were shot because we were good, and not to show to others as the best comedy show that they missed *shudder* I am just thankful, that there are no video recordings of that forgetful day.
Even now when we meet, my classmates demand a comedy-show from me 😦