Room to Move ‘n Groove

Many things feel gooder when done with a friend: eating, cleaning (now that’s the goodest kind of friend), reading in our respective corners, talking a troublesome issue to death and, sometimes, dancing.

I’m principally a private dancer (not for money) but, in a room where you can’t swing a cat (who thought of doing such a thing anyway? More on that later), this sprightly friend and I danced beyond a respectable bedtime.

Friend Colleen suggested it. You should be dancing, she said.

For some unfathomable reason (tiredness, a moon-mope, who knows) I considered sidestepping her suggestion. Also, I might dance at the drop of a hat, but I couldn’t envision the two of us attempting to get down on it (listen to the song; it’s a classic, funky disco track) in a space where you back into a piece of furniture at every turn. I persuaded myself to cooperate by tapping into the memory of my recent outdoorsy dance.

I danced…

while walking the dogs on a sloping rock-that-roll field (I had headphones plugged into the phone in my pocket). My eldest son said (with wry humor) Anybody watching would think loonies live here (he could watch me because he was outside making a loony inferno-burno fire for his spiral of sausage). If anyone was watching (highly unlikely), they’re loony too and nodded their crazy head in recognition while thinking I’m not alone anymore!

If I can dance over stones, I can dance in my own m² while my friend dances in hers.

We didn’t start with our freestyle m² moves. We started with my rusty line dancing basics, improvising like crazy because there isn’t enough room to repeat the steps facing all four walls (concussion dance, that would be). When we grew tired of the confusing improv we stayed in one spot, our own spot, and did hippy dance: arms waving and flapping about, connecting with invisible cosmic energies while trying not to connect with visible material ones (sideboard, cupboard, table, bench, chair, plants).

All in all, it was jolly good fun and enough exercise to keep me fit for weeks.

I have an energetic weight loss treat lined up for you (all you have to do is watch). Check out the jaw-dropping, flawless editing in this mash-up of vintage dance footage. This guy’s made the perfect video for short attention spans.

Wasn’t that fun? And you burn calories just by watching it.

What was that you said?

Please, don’t burst my bubble (see a stricken expression).

Any-hoo, I promised I would get back to the…

Not-enough-room-to-swing-a-cat puzzle

Who thought of such a thing?

The answer is not pleasant, doesn’t include animals, includes humans, an instrument of torture/punishment, and a lot of pain and shredded flesh.

Human + human + whip = there’s not enough room to swing a cat.

The expression ‘is thought to allude to the cat-o’-nine-tails, or “cat,” a whip with nine lashes widely used to punish offenders in the British military’ according to dictionary.com. One can therefore conclude that it’s a reference to not having enough room for a lashing arm and it’s extension, the “cat”, to be brutally effective.

The only word that has any possible correlation to an actual cat in the above explanation is ‘nine’. Cats are purported to have nine lives. I don’t know, as a human, whether I envy or pity them. I envy their ability to bounce back but not their coexistence alongside humans. We really are a perplexing problem.

On a lighter, brighter note…

I also promised in my last post I’d have another postcard for you. Here it is. Drum roll (possible eye roll too because I uploaded it long ago but only got to writing this short ago). Definitely time for me to go. Saying goodbye before you go.

Toodle-oo,

xxx ❤ PenMantis (Michele)