Dancing (The Wedding Blog)

My younger brother got married last weekend. It was great! The bride looked radiant, the ceremony went off with out a hitch, and at the reception toasts were delivered, (Including an exceptionally stirring speech by the best man [ME!] that left nary a dry eye in the house) before we sat down to an excellent meal.

Everything was going great… until the dancing started.

On my best day I’m about as coordinated as a landlocked jellyfish and about as rhythmic as a sloth on tranquilizers; add to that the fact that I am currently at the uncomfortable crossroads in life where bookish young men start to lose the fight between unfit and fat, I knew things were going to get ugly.

I stalled as long as I could; busying myself by talking to relations and returning to the buffet table numerous times to help fat win the war on unfit, but eventually I had to make my move to the dance floor. As the best man it was expected.

 I chose my song carefully, something fast, catchy and about on par lyrically with the ridiculousness I knew would ensue. I think it was by K$sha.

I made my way to a group of twentysomethings grooving in a circle in the middle of the dance-floor and proceeded to cut a rug… by which I mean I jerked around with the spastic abandon of an epileptic at a dubstep concert.

Thankfully all photographic evidence of my exploits have been destroyed, but this stock photo is a pretty accurate depiction.

The other dancers gracefully ignored my sweaty thrashing and, a few songs later, when a group dance like the Cuban Shuffle or Electric Slide or something started, I bowed out. Thankfully I was the only casualty in my vortex of uncool.

I took this opportunity to play to my strengths (Read: high jinx). Enlisting a few of the more artistically minded of the wedding party I partook in the age old custom of embarrassing the happy couple by drawing vaguely inappropriate pictures and slogans on their vehicle.

That was a lot more fun then dancing!