A season for mannequin dabbing

It’s no lie that I love Christmas. I love CHRIST-MAS and I cannot lie. Those other brothers can’t deny.  It’s also no lie that I have no rhythm. Or that I’m a middle aged shit stick sinking into quicksand obscurity. So, I thought it would behoove everyone to marry those 2 things together, Christmas and no rhythm having, by pulling in something relevant, current and popular. I hereby give you the “Mannequin Dab via Christmas Decorations Whilst Not Having One Iota of Rhythmic Tendencies” movement. This movement goes a little something like this:

Drumroll for the intro.


In this chapter, it is important to point out the fact that not only am I getting ready to teeter off of this artificial granite, but there are only so many moves that I can make due to restricted counter space, hence affirming my affection for the season, as well as illustrating my limited choice in mannequin moves. It serves a dual purpose.
Come on, VOGUE! This is my go to move, but only when I’m wearing a mask. I wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with anyone if said mask was removed. Don’t deny the fact that I am getting funky, down and dirty, ready to twerk it, just bad to the bone. Or, perhaps my hip is at risk for being thrown out.
Oh, hello, world! Wheeeee! It’s an introvert hiding under a mask, and I’m fabulous with wonky jazz hands!” I’m a little teacup, drunk and proud!
Listen – you know you are wondering how I suddenly turned headless. I’m a master of disguise and I don’t let that trump my funky vibe.
Obviously I don’t know how to dab. I’m not cool, or “fleek,” or stank. I’m just me. And me has no dance moves. I can curl up my arm and stick out my boo-tay, and that’s about all I gots.
I’m going to get real with you right now. Hear me now and believe me later. I almost fell down these damn stairs, and all my photog daughter could do about it was snap away while I laid there helpless. That wasn’t a dab or mannequin move, it was a cry for help! My belly fat hanging out all over the stairs, a tear stained nutcracker fur, and my ego are all at bay. SOS!
See, this is what happens when you’re on the bottom. You do stupid shit like this, wear poinsettia garland on your effing head, and you smile hysterically – because you know. You know that your life has made a flaming wrong turn that spewed you out of the driver’s seat. EJECT! But you sit there and you still wear your Noel sign with pride.
If this was a video instead of a still, you would totally see me doing a little tap number that I like to call “Losing at Life.” It includes no ego maniacal actresses, no one with even an ounce of pride, or social awareness enough to get the F off of that Adirondack.
What you are looking at here is actually a mother. To 3 shamefully embarrassed children. How much more sad and rock bottom will I get?

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