Caution: Monkey Dancing

I often shy away from confrontation.


Scratch that.


I often run, full speed, my feet spinning in circles, like they do in Saturday Morning cartoons, from anything that slightly resembles confrontation.


It is because of this that I have, on more than one occasion:

*eaten something completely different than what I had originally ordered at a restaurant.

*let student(s) take credit for work that I had done in school.

*high fived someone who had just insulted me. (Yeah! Good one! *smack*)

*worked hours of overtime, but never claimed it, because I didn't want to be a burden on corporate America. (Listen, they had a lot on their plates. Those spa retreats to Sedona don't just book themselves, you know.)



Growing older (and wiser?) hasn't much helped with my "backbone deficiency". Instead, I have developed a very mature and emotionally advanced way of dealing with any uncomfortable situation. I believe the technical term for it is:

"acting a fool"

I know it sounds complicated to those not trained in the art of "fool-ology", but I'll try to put it in layman's terms.

If ever there comes a time when I sense the onset of crippling anxiety, or feel beads of sweat gathering on my forehead because my "Confront-o-meter" is registering CODE RED, I become a goofy, slaphappy, do anything to ease the tension- including point out any and all of my freaky body flaws- fool of a woman.

(Confession: There have been many a night where I have brought out my "crooked witch finger" just to give my girlfriends a good laugh. Missing tendons + witch cackle = hours of giggles.)

I like to call this embarrassing behavior, "The Monkey Dance".

Whether I'm prompted by an organ grinder or wound up and released......... I go ape.

I'm sure many of you can relate. You've grabbed those symbols and happily banged away in hopes of convincing the audience that you are "footloose and fancy free".

"Everything's fine! Not anxious at all!" Bang Bang Bang

"I'm not uncomfortable in the slightest!" Back flip......Bang Bang Bang

I thought I was succeeding in my "Monkey Dancing". In fact, Julliard's School of Dance had offered me a position to teach my specific style of performance.

(Not really, but wouldn't that have been great? "OK ladies, symbols and/or organs ready and dance......2....3....4. And, distract.....6....7....8. Excellent! They had no idea you threw up a little bit in your mouth because you were so scared. Remove your tiny hats and take a bow!")

(You know she's a fancy monkey dancer because she has a tea cup.)

But the truth is, I learned very recently that my dancing isn't something to be celebrated. It's merely a mask I wear, a way of hiding. And like a bad penny, the truth always has a way of showing up.

One evening, after a week of clanging and banging, back flipping and bowing, something unusual happened. I wanted to dance for a friend, and when I tried to wind up and perform, what came out instead was an awful, horrible,

"GRRRRRR YIP SNIP ACK COUGH SSNORT SNIP...... SNAP!"

I was stunned at my response. This wasn't like me. I couldn't even so much as clap! Instead I snipped and yipped. I didn't like me.......not like this.

I felt awful.

What I realized, when I came home that night, was that I should've trusted her enough to put down the symbols, and take off the tap shoes. Isn't that what friends are for? I could've told her about my sore feet and aching arms. She would've understood. She has felt the same way.

She was kind and understanding. She danced for me and told me of her faults. But I knew that I needed to make a change. To learn the difference between an audience and a friend.

With a friend, I can stop dancing.

With a friend, I can be still.

With a friend, I can even yip and snap.

And, with this realization, comes a vow to do better. To trust more in my friends and family. To resist the urge to fire up the music and dance during those times when I get anxious or life gets stressful.

Who knows. I may even be able to get through a dinner without drawing attention to my blasted, creepy fingers.



*shudder*

They should be under a house with ruby slippers or handing out candy to cute, German siblings with a fondness for bread crumbs.