Homemaker Man 1/2 Hour Dance Hour in Full Effect

It's time to get this place moving people.  Everyone around here is lazy and slothful and fat.  And by everyone, I mean me and two of the cats.

Today we instituted the Homemaker Man 1/2 hour Dance Hour.

 I put on Off The Wall and Shook It til It Broke.
All over the living room like a giant egg yoke.

Gross, y'all.

Picture if you will, a man moving with the comic abandon of Robin Williams in The Birdcage (Twyla, Twyla, Twyla . . .)  and the desperate, corn-fed, clumsiness of Elizabeth Berkely in Showgirls.  With better tits.

My children alternated between being swept up in the enthusiasm and abject disgust.  Didn't know a one year old had that in him, but he does.  I've also gotten a nice glimpse of my daughter's future teen, "OMG Dad, what is wrong with you?!" face.

Still, at times my cheerful flabby flailing (like a sea cow at a rave, maybe?  That image do anything for anyone?) managed to induce definite dance like movements.  When they didn't have their backs turned to me, pretending to read.

Nice try.  I KNOW you mutha fuckahs can't read.  I mean, the Peanut has a good number of sight words, but ThE Waste Land?  Yeah, right.  I can't read that shit and I'm at nearly a 12th grade reading level

All in all, I feel much better than I thought I would.  The endorphins are pumping, my energy level is up and my bod . . . oops.   My groin just fell out.


(long) Windedly,

Homemaker Man

P.S.  I don't own a lot of good dance music, so if any one has suggestions, I welcome them.   Stuff we (I) can sing along with at the same time would be much appreciated.