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.

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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.
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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.
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“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!
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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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