Just Dance.

Truth.

Last night I came home from work stressed, tired and mentally pooped from the past few weeks. After talking to my mom on the phone, laying fully clothed on my bed like a mummy and then finally motivating myself to start cooking dinner, Dr. H rolled in (post-drinks with colleagues) to find his wife chopping onions and mentally beating workday dead horses. He exited the kitchen and turned on the stereo. He poured himself a drink and suggested I do the same, but I declined and moved on to smashing garlic. But halfway through singing Boyz II Men's Motownphilly together, I started to bop to the beat. We moved through several Motown classics before arriving at hit tracks from the Jock Jams collection at which point Dr. H took the large knife out of his wife's hand and demanded I come dance. So I danced.

I danced to those 90s hits like I was at a college party and then I took some wine out of the fridge and I kept on dancing. Though I may have taken a break (or 2) to check my phone for emails (I'm working on that compulsion) and I definitely talked more than my dance partner would have preferred (shocker!), eventually it all faded away and there I was in my living room, bottle of wine in hand, grooving with my guy to Zoot Suit Riot (#NoShame). The lesson my friends? Sometimes you have to just stop... and dance. 

Have a wonderful weekend friends (and don't be a afraid to just dance!)