I have a confession to make: I’m a car-dancer.
I dance sitting in my car. I can’t help myself. I can’t drive without music. And when I hear music, I have to move. When I hear great music, I have to move even more. And it looks ridiculous. At least I assume. I can’t actually see myself.
So I quite often find myself at a stoplight doing a fist pump that turns into an “oh I was just playing with my hair” move when I realize I’m level with the car beside me. Or a shoulder groove that turns into “just stretching out my sore muscles.”
But then I remember:
I don’t know these people.
That’s one good thing about the traffic in this area. Although I’m surrounded by other cars, I’ll probably never see those drivers ever again. So does it matter if they think I’m strange?
No. No it does not. Because the truth is, I am strange. (I know. Try to control your utter shock.) And it always makes me smile to see other strange people doing fabulously strange things.
So why not? Maybe a weird car-dancing girl in the car next to someone will make their day. You just never know. (Although the fist-pumping could be a little alarming so that one I might still keep in check. But the rest? Oh, it’s on.)
Confession: I’m going to keep car-dancing. And you can’t stop me. But you’re welcome to join me.