Martin's dancing was so energetic, his beard fell off.
For me, terpsichorean self-expression is fine in the boogie belt, somewhere left field of La Cucaracha. But when it comes to cutting the rug in the confines of my home, I get a big ‘thumbs down’ from the grandchildren. SW has long held the view that I should do less boogie and more board games.
The twins haven’t developed their diplomacy to a workable level of sophistication yet. They simply shout at me to stop dancing. When that fails, they resort to an alternating combination of hard stares and screwed up faces. When I finally stop, one of them will mutter with disgust, “I don’t like your dancing,” or “you’re too big to dance.”
I think what they’re actually saying is, “you’re to old to dance.” They, on the other hand, will twirl and leap, skip and jump and inevitably crash land on their bottoms. I suspect I can manage the latter without too much coaching. Whether I could leap to my feet and convince them it was all part of the routine, is debatable.