Dance of the fish head folks

I do not know why dancing images keep popping up in my doodles. I am not a dancer; typical white guy, no grace, two big clumsy feet.

But, and I think this is not an common fantasy, I wish I were a dancer. Smooth, flowing art in motion. Little girls, before they are taught to hide their true selves, are the most uninhibited tiny dancers.

In the church is an elevated platform, or stage that drawers kids to itself like a magnet. The kids love to get up on the stage and dance. It tickles me to watch them. So free, so uncaring of what anyone thinks.

I am so afraid of what others might think. I am stifled to the point of being a mute.

At some point, someone laughed at me. Or something happened to give me an excuse to withhold expression.

When we were dating, my future wife and I would go dancing. Disco (I am internally blushing right now). Of course, there was alcohol involved. Isn’t it sad that we need alcohol to be as free as children.

But, she had been in the school dance squad and preformed in school musicals. After we martief she did not like the way I danced.

“You are not doing it right!”

So, there it is! I doodle because I can’t dance, my doodles dance because I can’t dance.

Which is good news for my worn out ankle.

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