Forget dancing queen... I’m a dancing ninja.
The music pumps, the contingent jump around trying to all look sexy, and “The Engineer” (TE) shakes his cement tush like “Courtney from the ghetto” on the verge of a striptease clad in my cop hat...
Good times....
Yes – a typical Saturday night at a mad hatters birthday party.
All that was amiss was the mad hatter herself and ½ cups of tea...
As The Engineer and I broke down the rules of dancing, a pack of admires watched on in awe. (I wish I could say it was all me, but alas, flaring arms like an octopus on steroids doesn’t constitute attractive dancing. It was all eyes on The Engineer)
Apparently, I’m told – according to societal norms, he’s considered “OMG he’s hot, I can’t breathe when I’m around him he’s so yummy, did you see his ass – it’s like cement, oh wow, I’d never kick him out of bed, smoking hot sexy” .
In case you missed that – he’s a catch, and smart to boot.
Geez – I never noticed; I was always just preoccupied by those 2 little arrow lines on his stomach... and his divine teeth... mmmm.
Anyhoo, we were jiving and all looking super cool (of course) until an inevitable tumble which landed us in a pile or arms and legs and hair, hovering over one another, inches from the floor.
It was a case of the matrix-meets-adulttwister gone wrong, tangled in a web of bodies, shaking from laughter.
The oh so amazing factor; throughout the entire ordeal – we never spilt a single drop of goodness from a glass.
At least I know where my priorities lie...
I’ve now been dubbed – the “dancing ninja”.
Hooray; a new party trick!
