Thirty Dancing
I’m thoroughly enjoying life without the school-run, but I’m also experiencing withdrawal symptoms from not going for a run… Mr Snow is working away, [he tiles restaurants, though he’d rather be cooking in the kitchens] so I can’t even go in the evenings. Still, while the cat’s away, the mice will… live on chocolate eggs… and the house is cleaner.
My daughter looks like her Daddy, but her mannerisms are all me. She literally speaks like me [but with a slight lisp] like she says ‘literally’ all the time. Her [full] name is Miss Arizona Snow, after one of the Coen brothers’ films, [Mr Snow’s favourite film directors] Raising Arizona. We couldn’t decide on a middle name because the initials kept spelling A.S.S or A.R.S so we left it as A.S. You have to think of these things… Contrary to what many people predicted, she’s never been called Arry. She has been called Amazon, Alabama and even Phoenix, but never Arry.
Arizona [or Lil’AZ in the ‘street’ world] LOVES to dance. Streetdance. I hate to sound like an annoying, proud parent, but she’s pretty good for her age [seven] - Her team, sorry ‘krew’, just won the British Streetdance Championships… View video Above: Arizona getting into a ‘freeze’ position.
Since I’ve not been able to burn off Easter eggs by way of running, I’ve had to look for an alternative way to work up a sweat. Yes, I’ve taken up streetdance lessons with Miss Arizona and I’m having the time of my life! I sweat, I mean perspire, much more doing twenty minutes dancing, than I do in an hour and twenty minutes running. My arms ache too which could mean it’s possibly curing my bingo wings? Interestingly, I’ve found that when I start to get tired, it affects my thinking and then I start throwing all sorts of shapes, much to Miss Arizona’s amusement. If you remember in Return to Oz, when Tick-Tock’s thinking winds down and he starts going delirious? That’s me after half an hours krumping – That’s booty-shaking-Beyonce-style, if you will.
Mr Snow does a robot dance. At the last wedding he performed this ‘talent’ for two hours solid, while I watched, wincing in the wings. It made me realise that in your twenties to dance in public, you have to be at least semi-cool, but in your thirties, anything goes… the conga, the can-can, the air guitar, the running man, the macarena, the night fever and, another particular favourite of Mr Snow’s, the rod & reeler. My Name is Earl - Anyone? What I observe on the dance floor is precisely why I’m glad I don’t drink. Dancing in your twenties may have been all about the cool kids, but it seems thirty dancing is all about embarrassing your kids. And with that in mind, if you’re over thirty, and not a member of Flawless [that means you too, Madonna], I recommend you Get Ur Freak On behind closed doors…