Do I Dare Admit...

...what I've spent a major portion of my last few days doing???

Okay, I'll tell you, though I'm laughing myself.

But first let me tell you why before I tell you what.

This Friday, our family is going to a dance party. Yes, you read that right, a dance party. You see, we have some friends who are a lot of fun (aka totally crazy) and they are hosting a graduation party for their lovely daughter, Mandy. Well, not being as boring as the rest of us, they came up with the idea that each family attending should come prepared to present a dance routine.

As you can imagine, Jeff and Tobias were thrilled with that idea. Delaney would be willing, but she's quite busy with the musical that she is presently involved in, so it's up to me to represent the family. (We're doomed.)

Knowing that any modern dance I came up with would look like an unfunny comedy routine, I looked to my roots and with a little help from the internet, I have now learned how to...

...Irish folk dance. Sort of.

Ya know, the-Lord-of-the-Dance type stuff (or in my case, the-Imbecile-of-the-is-that-a-Dance? type stuff) where the dancers' torsos and arms look frozen stiff while their legs commit methodical spasms much to the mystification of their audience.

Yeah.

So I found a video tutorial on the Net and have diligently been practicing these moves that look so beautiful and easy when the teacher does them. Ha! My consolation is that everyone is expecting this whole dance thing to be amusing. Otherwise, I'd stay home and clean my fridge.

Door to Door People Drive Me Nuts

Today, as I was blaring O'Sullivan's March and dancing my Scotch-Irish butt off, the doorbell rang. I went through my normal Oh-Someone's-at-the-Door routine and crept toward the front door, praying the floorboards wouldn't creak and peeked through the peephole.

It was some stranger who promptly waved at my peering self. (I hate how people can tell when you're looking!) I held my breath even though I knew he was on to me (as if the car in the driveway and the irish fiddle wailing in the background weren't enough clues that someone was indeed home). He waited a few seconds and then knocked on the door.

He calls me out by waving at my eyeball and then persists to claim entrance? Whatever, Pal!

Once during a similar scenario, a guy hollered out, "Hello! I know you're in there," in a somewhat hostile manner. Yeah, I'm really going to open my door to you now that I know you're angry with me.

What is it with these guys? Like I owe them something just because I don't have three Doberman Pinschers between the street and my front door.

Anyway, I need to get a few more minutes of practice in before Tobias comes home from school.

(My Celtic ancestors must either be rolling over in their graves or laughing the lids off their caskets.)