I was born with the heart and soul of a dancer.
Someone else got the body.
I was roly-poly. And short.
My mom bought my clothes in the Pretty Plus department at Sears.
Anyone else remember that one?
She also bought me patent leather dress shoes.
I adored them.
It didn't matter what color...
Red, white, black...
I loved their every sound.
In my head, I was Ann Miller.
In truth, I was a little fat girl clogging through the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly.
My mom never had any trouble finding me.
Tap-tappity-tap-tap... TAP. TAP.
But, when I was 14, a miraculous thing happened...
Well, at least my legs did...
Long, lean, and quite shapely...
The thrill was obvious.
I once shouted, "Just look at these gams!"
Yes, I was called down. ;o)
I still had my stumpy upper half...
Giving me the resemblance of an odd sort of bird.
The point was totally moot.
I danced with my brand new legs anyway.
Everywhere I went.
Whether anyone was looking or not.
I didn't care.
(Except for that time a picture of me busting a move at a high school dance made the local newspaper. BIG no-no for the grandaughter of the pastor of a church that didn't believe in having music, let alone dancing. Oopsy. *Blush*)
As the years have passed, health issues have caused me to dance more and more with my heart and soul and less and less with my legs.
I just want to be thankful that I can hear the music.