I would like to describe me dancing at this point. Here goes:
I step delicately onto the dance floor. My ballet slippers slide gracefully across the floor as I make my way to its center. I stop suddenly and place both hands on my hips where a thick hot pink belt adorns my waist. I close my eyes and patiently await the soft, inspiring sound of music.
With a flurry of movement, my feet leave the floor with a jump and my legs form a 180 degree angle. I land only to fall quickly yet gracefully into a crouch, the sound of my pink spandex pants caressing my thighs catches my ear. I roll backwards into an enchanting hand-stand and slowly lower my legs, all the while holding them tightly together like a nun in a brothel. As my toes touch the cold, hard floor I explode into the air, hands flailing in rapid yet coordinated movements. With another hop I move left, arms extended parallel to the ground, tip-toeing dazzlingly in concentric circles. I prance hard, like no other man has ever pranced before. After I methodically run through step after step of my perfectly choreographed masterpiece, I come to a halt at the floor's precise center. With a low bow I thank my audience by blowing kisses to the air. A standing ovation ensues and I catch the largest bouquet of roses the world has ever beheld. Thank you all. Thank you all so much.
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