For all the things I love about Sailor Man, I did not marry him for his dancing.

As we are about to enter the home stretch of the Wedding Year From Hell (six wedding, six different states, all in one year), it will be time, once again, for Sailor Man to pull out his suit and tie and perform the mating dance of the Blue Footed Booby.

Not sure what a Blue Footed Booby dance is? You can see it here.

That’s my husband.

I went for years stupified by his moves on the dance floor. I mean, where the hell did that  come from? Until one night, with a raging case of insomnia, I was watching Animal Planet and a documentary on the birds of the Galapagos. On came this bird performing this oddly similar movement and voila! A moment of clarity befell me. And it makes sense, really, a “booby” is from the Spanish word “bobos” which means “stupid fellow” which is how the bird appear on land. Clumsy. I’ll let you draw the obvious dance comparison.   

I blame Sailor Man’s dance on his choice of music. Look at his musical library and it is full of sea chanteys, irish folk music, Eric Clapton and funk. Yes, funk. De La Soul, Del the Funky Homosapien, Cake, you name it. And let me tell you, you’ve never met a whiter white boy with no rythm in all your travels. I know I haven’t.

If I were really evil, I’d buy him a pair of blue suede shoes and complete the image, but what can I say? I’s in looooooove.