Last night was my favorite night of the year in my town—the night of the Christmas parade. My favorite part of the parade? That would be like trying to name your favorite ingredient in the world’s best cookie, but if I could choose future life-times, I know I would immediately live one as a cootchie dancer. To be able to wiggle my butt two inches from the ground? Can you imagine how it must feel to be that limber, to move all your body parts with such liquidity, to have every cell in your body surging to the flow of the music. It must feel like flying.
Last night the elegant women of the University of Arkansas dance squad regally posed in front of two blocks of band members cootchie dancing while they played wild Christmas music. The pep squad swooped and shimmied and laughed along with the band. They owned us.
This is not something you learn in dance class.
This is a force of nature.
I want it.
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You're back. Yay. Just for once, I'd like to be the cootchie mama and not the one with the good personality. You know what I'm saying? It's hard to be a cootchie mama with thick glasses, though I keep hearing about this new surgery. Cootchie on...
Alas, I have the thick glasses and the lack of rhythm. The eye surgery might not be a help to me...so I can only dream of being so wildly, wickedly, gleefully mobile. And appreciate it when I see it.
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