I love to tell the story about my husband, Chad, taking breakdance lessons. When he lived in California, the youngsters were into this crazy dancing style that originated on "the streets." Chad's venture into breakdance had zero street credibility. His mom paid for the lessons. They lived in the suburbs. Invariably when I tell people about Chad's breakdance lessons, they ask him for a demonstration. To my great delight, he usually looks sheepish, does a shy act and begs out of performing any poppin' & lockin'. (Breakdancing involves some poppin' & lockin' of bone joints and muscles for moves like the wave, the worm, moonwalking, etc...) One time at a wedding reception, Chad actually obliged and showed off some of his moves. Sadly, I must report that Chad's mom wasted her money on those breakdance lessons. One of the other guys at the wedding reception had a lonely childhood spent studying Michael Jackson videos and memorizing ALL of the choreography. He recreated several of Michael Jackson's dance routines with alarming and amusing accuracy! Thus putting Chad's so-called breakdance skills to shame.Today after my yoga class, the lady behind me commented that she heard some poppin' from me during class. It was NOT the usual popping of chewing gum (bad habit of mine), but rather my knee joints popping and my leg bones popping in my hip sockets. The lady behind me was my mom's age and a little more limber than I'll ever be. Sigh. A few weeks ago in yoga class, I got a bad cramp in my glutes (butt muscles.) I got stuck in this hard yoga pose with my bootie-muscle-cramp, like physically locked into it. My poppin' & lockin' aren't very impressive either. Chad & I are well matched.
