I nervously glance at the clock.
Make sure I’ve done the potty break. Stake out my position. Got a glass of ice water on the end table beside me.
Cell phone within reaching distance. Remote control firmly in hand. Like clock-work, I complete this ritual-like routine every Monday night.
Yes, I will admit to a secret that only my family and a couple of friends at work know. I am addicted to the television show Dancing With the Stars.
Don’t ask me to attend anything on Monday nights from 8-10 p.m. because I’ll turn down your invitation. My hubby knows he must watch TV elsewhere if another show interests him because I will not budge from the family room set.
Don’t call me during that time unless it’s an emergency, and really you should be dialing 911 instead anyway! If you text me, I can handle that, but you better be texting opinions about the show, otherwise you will get one word answers from me. I even shut down my lap-top on Monday nights! (gasp!)
Yep, it’s that serious. I love that show. I know people scoff at it and think it’s stupid. I don’t care. Watching it just makes me smile. Even when I don’t know who the heck some of the “star” competitors are, I watch anyway.
I love the fact that the show is live. I love the music. I love the costumes. It reminds me of watching musical variety TV shows when I was a kid and somehow that floats my boat. I have vivid memories of “dancing” along with those shows in my parents’ living room when no one else was watching.
Inside of this subdued empty nest Mama is a crazy dancer living vicariously via Dancing With the Stars. This out-of-shape body couldn’t dance like the stars if I tried and everyone knows you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
But viewing the couples glide across the stage in an elegant Viennese waltz or a lively quick step makes me want to glide along with them. Watching the fiery Latin dances, the paso doble or Argentine tango, entices me to stamp my feet like a flamenco dancer.
The sassy cha-cha, rumba or samba invite me to get up and shake my booty, although I subdue that impulse because it wouldn’t be a pretty picture! But if 60-year-old not so willowy Kirstie Alley can shake her groove thang all over national television, I guess I could succumb to a little hip action in the privacy of my own home.
And when the dancers do the jive? The yen to jump up and frolic around the room is as intense as the grin – so wide it hurts my cheeks – on my face. To me, that’s entertainment!
It’s pretty safe to proclaim that I have watched every season of DWTS. And in most seasons, I vote for my favorites and vote and vote and vote. I hit the redial on my cell phone for as many votes as possible then switch to my land-line phone and even my hubby’s cell if it’s handy.
This season will be no exception; even though the new season just premiered last night, I’ve already got my favorite pegged – NFL Pittsburgh Steelers wide receiver Hines Ward. That man’s smile would light up the darkest man cave.
He’s ‘in it to win it’ no matter what he does, on the football field or off. I like his work ethic and the fact that no matter what happens, he flashes his pearly whites.
Last night, he looked a tad nervous at first but once he commenced moving and grooving, I could tell he was putting it all out there. Go Ward! You’re off to a great start!
I’ll be voting and grinning right back at you. I might even wave my…..terrible towel! (You thought I was going to say groove thing, didn’t you?!)