Lately, whenever I feel I’ve put my foot in my mouth, or in fact both feet, AND my fist, the words of Tom Jones appear in my head unbidden. Or when I’ve had a really shocking day, and I can’t quite think of anything else that could go wrong, there is Tom, thinking he’d better dance now. How did he get there? How will I make him go away? Can I choose a more attractive earworm, under the age of 70? Thankfully I’ve resisted Tom’s call to action, since capping off inappropriate words with bizarre behaviour usually doesn’t have a redeeming effect. Particularly in job interviews.
One of these days I’m thinking it may all become too much, however, and before I die of shame or embarrassment, I will actually dance my way out of a room or a situation that has become dire. Stay tuned. I promise I’ll let you know when it happens.
When it does, I’ll take a leaf out of the book of these girls. They dance like nobody’s watching.
These photos bring me joy. This week I’m feeling a little pensive, and I’m grieving for the little girl you see on the left, who didn’t have diabetes in these pictures. I have a strong, resilient, mature daughter, but I grieve for the one who kicks up her heels and just dances for no good reason. My little girl is joyful, but now she thinks about things, a lot. So do I.
I think we’d better dance, now.
Linking up with Tegan at Musings of the Misguided, for the Lounge’s ‘Favourite photos’ theme this week, and Grace for FYBF.