Dance Evolution

My parents are awesome dancers. They are just that goddamn good. In fact, if my dad has a glass of wine, he just gets better. My brother isn't that bad either. I, on the other hand, seemed to have inherited the Immobile Drunk Loud Laugher gene and certainly not the dancing one. When I hit the dance floor, the Fat White Club-footed Scotsman With Acute Astigmatism in me just comes out and makes an appearance. Then people start to wonder if something is wrong with me:

"Will you let go of me! I don't have epilepsy! And quit shoving that fucking wallet in my mouth!"

See, with dancing, there is no middle ground. You are either fucking brilliant and people just stare at you with awe and excitement. Or, you're shit and people stare at you with grave concern, eye-rolling pity or good old fashioned disdain. Sometimes, I can feel the laser marker that snipers use, track across my face. That's usually my cue to knock that shit off.

Why do you think I listen to death metal?