Dance like you just don't care

My wife likes to dance.
Not in front of men who are waving money at her or anything like that, but at parties and weddings etc.
She always wants me to hit the dance floor and bust a move (I am more worried about busting a hip).
We don't go to nighclubs very much anymore – and by that I mean never – so opportunities to dance are greatly limited.
And I am OK with that. I never was big on dancing.
I can dance in my own unique style, but I am not very comfortable on the dance floor.
At more than six-feet tall I always feel self concious as I boogie on down because I am taller than most of the people out there and I stick out like a dorky white guy who can't really dance.
My wife is so vertically limited the only people who see her are the ones directly around her, so she dances without a care in the world.
Our stunning height difference also makes slow dancing nearly impossible. The only way she could rest her head on my shoulder is if she had a small stepladder with her.
But that's not to say I have never cut a rug in my day. With enough liquid encouragement anyone will take to the floor and show the world what they have.
I have done my fair share of girating to the music (and not always with the addition of liquid skills), but there is only one setting where I am comfortable doing it: a wedding.
These days when the Missus and I attend a wedding it is for a niece, nephew or the child of a friend of mine which officially makes me the old guy.
And the 'old guy' can dance anyway he wants and not give a darn.
Once I realized that, I didn't care how badly I danced because as the 'old guy,' nothing more was expected of me.
I don't have to bounce with the latest dance moves or be up on the coolest trends. I can go out there and jump around anyway I want and all the young people will accept that whatever I am doing, it is because I am an 'old guy.'
I no longer have to worry about being cool. I never was cool, but I used to worry about it. Now, who cares, because all the other old people are dancing just as badly as I am.
While the young kids are spinning around on their heads so fast I am sure they will eventually drill a hole and strike oil, I am putting on my tried and true pattented moves that have done me just fine for many years.
You know, old guy moves.
But the best part of a wedding — and I also realized this many years ago —is  no matter how badly I dance, there will always be someone out there who dances worse than me.
Typically it is the drunk uncle who had his usual “one too many” and just can't contain himself any longer.
Of course, everyone knows about Uncle so they avoid him like a drunken plague and he ends up dancing by himself in the corner while slurring the words to a completely different song.
Eventually, Uncle moves from the dance floor to a chair where he spends the rest of the evening with his friends Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker.
Even without Uncle showing the next generation how it's done, the party continues and the youngsters jump around with the coolest moves they can muster.
As the night progresses, I show them a few moves of my own, like the I'm tired and I want to sit down (my personal favourite.)
They may not realize it at the moment, but eventually that is a move they will all mimic.