I've found, and Becca will back me up on this, that everyday I'm growing more neurotic. Blame it on old age, my growing political misanthropy, or the first three seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm. But I still love to dance like there's no tomorrow when no one's looking.
One arena where I tend to lose it is the video rental shop. There's no Blockbuster over here, and as great as the trip with Lindsey was, that's not such a bad thing. There is, however, a place called Mom's. Before I've even entered the store I'm a thin sheet of sweat glazes my forehead, my adrenaline is coarsing, I'm well into fight or flight. After the obligatory announcement of the lates fees, it's always the same: fight.
Today they were playing that awful Antonio Banderas movie where he teaches inner-city kids to tango. This can be summed up in one word: Yikes.
Do you know what was happening in the movie? Well, it's not hard to figure out. They were doing the same thing that happens in every bad dance movie:
A dance off.
For some reason, the dance off settles all problems. But only in movies. I think the world would be a much better place if more things were settled by the dance off.
Like when they tell me the late fee is gonna be eight bucks. I could just say, "Challenge" and we'd throw down some cardboard and see who could spin the longest.
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