The other day, I had to drive to an appointment across town after work.
Traffic in Missoula can be surprisingly frustrating when not traveling by bike.
The lights are longer. Which is completely frustrating. Most days.
The other day, I was sitting at a light for the third time in a row… I was now waiting in the front row.
Frustrated, already late for my appointment, I put my hand in my head and huffed. I look into my side mirror and noticed the car in the next lane, one car behind.
It was obviously a father and his daughter. The girl, maybe age 6 or 7… possibly 8… full of joy, wonder. The dad, exhausted. He yawned a couple times, but was ever so engaged with his daughter.
They were smiling, laughing. Why? Because they were doing some kind of copy-cat-dance-move thing. It was ah-mazing. The girl would do a crazy dance for about 30 seconds and then point to her father saying something that looked like, “Now you.”
The father would then imitate his daughter’s crazy dancing for about four seconds before they both broke out into laughter, giggles.
I could not stop staring. It was so precious.
After about four rounds of dance-copying, I, too, was giggling out loud. Watching, though the mirror, the father with his pursed lips, dancing like he was a Britney Spears back-up dancer, was just too much. His daughter couldn’t take it, laughing so hard and covering up her eyes, leaning her head back, like she hadn’t just asked him to do it, like she was embarrassed, like it was the BEST, like it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to her.
A car horn honked… then honked again… the light was green.
I drove on to my appointment.
Happy for the traffic.
This morning, making breakfast, after having a fort night…
I was in my boy shorts undies and a sweater… and I might have had my pearls on from last night because there was a dress-up code to enter the fort. [i went as the queen of england in her pajamas.]
Cooking breakfast in my undies and pearls, a song came on that I couldn’t not dance to. [oh, shhshh all you literary geniuses… i know there are fivethousand errors in my ways.]
I started dancing and then looked to Evan across the kitchen. He was manning the stove section of the breakfast. I said to him…
– Do what I do.
– What? Dancing?
– Yeah, you copy me.
I danced as ridiculous as I could. I danced as funky as I wanted to. I was a child. I was the BEST. I was embarrassed. I was asking for it. I was loving it.
We both could not stop laughing.
– Okay, your turn.
– Okay, dance like I do.
Dancing in the most ridiculous ways. Lots of elbows. Lots of dramatic drumming. Lots of hands on the hips and dramatic circles. And all in a kitchen surrounded on three sided with windows. A show for any neighbors lucky enough to be unbusy enough to watch.
I don’t know who it was more fun for… The Maker-Up-Er or The Copier.
Laughter took over and we couldn’t contain ourselves. Tears. Laughing. Loving. Dancing.
The song stopped and we looked at each other. Out of breath, sweaty from dancing, cheeks hurting from smiling. We went on cooking breakfast and everything tasted just a little bit sweeter with a side of ridiculous childishness on the side.
[thank you car dancing father/daughter duo for your inspiration.]
2 thoughts on “like she was. like it was.”
oh the days when there was a fort night every night. and i could pop out and scare unknowing visitors. i should’ve implemented a dress code. good idea.
You are freaking awesome.
We should be “BEST” friends! I love this post. Perhaps my fav.