Yesterday I was hanging up my “no dries” after they were washed. This is a large category and it was a large load of laundry. I realized after the drying rack was nearly full that I was singing, full voiced, Bjork’s “So Broken.” I was really going for it and was at the “trying to run ahead of that heart break train” part when I noticed. I was in the comfort of my kitchen and so was more charmed by myself than embarrassed (laundry and self-satisfaction!) But it made me wonder when and if I am singing mindlessly in other more public parts of my day.
In the last year or so I’ve realized that I am often dancing in public. I’m not twirling or anything remotely manic pixie dream girlish but rather a slight shuffle or shoulder shrug, sometimes a little more involved hip work but usually it’s the pelvic equivalent of a head bob. I’ve only become aware of this because other people have. I have been caught by cashiers, fellow shoppers, and people in line. They’re nice about it but they see me and let me know I have been spotted shimmying. Maybe when I was younger it was less remarkable. Now I am a LADY bopping the Sprouts’ supplement aisle. My joyfulness is kooky; and kooky is the sexless cousin of the manic pixie dream girl. Which is fine, I love my two pairs of Eileen Fisher pants.
They move beautifully.