Curse you, Phil Collins

Curses. I arrived home to find the dreaded "Your Rent Is Late And Now You Will Die!" note that my friendly office staff slipped in the door. Hate it when that happens.

But, moving on. I was thinking today about a character from a book I always liked, A Separate Peace. There was a boy named Phineas, and one of the many cool things about him was the way he ran and walked. His movement was described as flowing, an uninterrupted flow of natural energy that was impossible to emulate. I loved that. I wanted to move like Phineas. I wanted people to look at me and say, "Wow! She flows."

Instead, I prance.

I have tried to deny this fact. My arguments, however, are worthless. Prancing is not my normal mode of locomotion, but it becomes apparent when I go out for a walk with one of my friends, Amy. Now, she isn't that much taller than I am, but I periodically have to jog a few steps to keep up with her. My legs are not long.

During one of these bouts of spasmodic walk/jogging, the word "prancing" was first thrown out at me. I haughtily replied that she must be referring to the fact that I point my toes a bit funny, but that otherwise I was very much jogging, thank you. However, as I paid closer attention, I realized, shit, she's right.

I'm not sure if there is a real definition to prance that fits what I do, but it probably can't be described any other way. I invite anyone who is curious to come down to Dallas for a demonstration of prancing.

Random Link: Silly walks? You betcha!