I stopped drinking roughly 5 years ago.

Accordingly, my ability to dance has left me. Unfortunate really. When fueled by liquid courage, I became a dancing machine. Somehow my body magically converted consumed liquor to dancing juice that overrode my body's natural reluctance to dance. The dancing juice transformed my appendages from simple dangling pieces and means of locomotion to smooth, flowing limbs inspired by and in complete harmony with the playing music. It was as if the producer had specifically tailored the music to accentuate my body's movements. My graceful movements and the music complimented each other in a way that to say they did so perfectly is offensively inadequate. Onlookers basked in the ethereal experience with me. They stood immobile with mouths agape as though their brains had lost the ability to relay contracting impulses to their facial muscles because of the awesomeness and disbelief of what their eyes were beholding. Drool was collected by the floor and fronts of shirts alike. Drinks were dropped due to temporary paralysis inflicted by my skills. Michael Jackson, Fred Astaire and the Jabawockeez would have all given up their entertainment careers as dancers had they seen me in the alcohol induced zone.

Of course...this was only in my drunken mind. I'm sure bystanders were amused if not concerned by me behaving like an epileptic. Good ol' booze. It distorted incredibly horrifying inability to resplendent wonder. I'm glad I don't drink anymore. I imagine anyone who witnessed my spasmodic train wrecks of motion does too. The only kind of dancing I do now resembles the worm, if you get what I'm saying. [nudge, nudge] That's a lie I don't have sex. I can only hope my delusions of dancing elegance where the only byproduct of excess libations and not my spectacular bedroom performances.