The Best Time I Ever Choreographed A Dance Routine

When I was in 3rd grade, I loved few things as much as I loved pretending that I was cool, and as the kids say, that I didn't give a fuuuuhh. Point in fact, I gave many fuuuhhs and still do. I suffered from paralyzing insecurity and shyness which I covered with excessive, albeit affected, confidence. Something that is maybe important to know is that my sister's husband, Kevin, was the coolest human being I had ever met. Kevin was so cool, I believed him when he told me that his naturally curly hair was the product of tiny rollers that he wore every night. I believed this for years, and have a hard time to this day shaking the glorious image of him teasing out his curls with Aqua Net every morning. One of the coolest things about Kevin was that his taste in music was (for lack of a better term) THE SHIT. So when the school's annual talent show approached and my desperate need to appear more relevant than I was made me turn to Mimi and Kevin, who in turn introduced me to Blackstreet's "No Diggity."

I selected my partners with care; they needed to be fun and not have a problem with being bossed around by a be-freckled monster. Natasha was soft-spoken and whiter than I (we were inexplicably best friends) and Gabrielle just wanted to have someone to play with her every day. Next came the challenge of convincing--nay, forcing--them to dance to my cooler-than-cool song of choice. In 3rd grade, it turns out, that simply meant telling them to do it with conviction. The costumes were the strings section of our orchestra. Not wanting anyone to forget that we were the coolest bitches around, nor that we were the whitest, we chose jean shorts and canary-yellow floral print tees with brimmed hats. In case you missed it, we were dancing to Blackstreet, and once again we were in 3rd grade.

We took our place on the improvised-stage in our school's outdoor pavilion. Lined up with our heads down, we waited for the third "Mmm-mmmm" to lift our heads in succession; the body language conveyed nothing short of "shit's about to go DOWN." I don't remember all the moves, but I do remember our dramatic swivel toward the audience and my severe annoyance with Gabrielle who was smiling like an idiot. Didn't she know cool girls don't smile? Didn't she realize that we were by no means av-er-aaage? And Natasha, always moving one beat ahead of us, speeding up dance moves that were supposed to be sensual and dripping with attitude! This song was about presence, it was about having no doubt! It wasn't until the applause erupted and we were panting in our end-pose--leaning back to back with our arms crossed over our concave chests--and that we were a hit.

Nevermind that we were children in Mayim Bialik hats and jorts who had just earnestly danced to "No Diggity" with the seriousness of Baryshnikov. It was magic, and my only regret is that we never got to perform my fantasy encore presentation of Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It."