I may have told you once—or possibly a hundred times—that I do not dance. I’m basically Brandon Walsh. It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy dancing, I’m sure. It’s that I have been blessed with the natural rhythm of Carlton Banks and Elaine Benes combined.

I speak the truth.

Normally, this doesn’t really mean much other than the fact that I say “she doesn’t get it from me” quite an awful lot when people tell me how rhythmically-inclined my oldest daughter is because she most definitely does not get it from me. She gets her love of shopping and black boots and Les Miserables from me. And her good hair too. But dancing? PSHAW.

There is one dance I know how to do.

And it’s because one quiet afternoon when my babies were little and napping I thought to myself, “SELF! Do you know what would be more fun that laundry and cleaning and working? Learning The Thriller Dance!” So off I googled and one thrill the world website and a few hours later, I knew how to Zombie walk and shake it up and shake it down. Like a boss.

So it made sense—in my head—to plan a Thriller flash mob for Emily’s Bat Mitzvah. I got the idea about 2 years ago, and, well, some clumsy planning and some weird emails and a hilarious practice and, well, THE FACT THAT I LEARNED THE ENTIRE DANCE BACKWARDS BECAUSE IT WAS MIRROR IMAGE, I think it turned out pretty freakin’ hilarious. And it’s certainly something Emily will never forget, and possibly never stop being mortified about.

EXCELLENT.

(Thanks for the video Ray!)

But I’ll have you know this.

The Thriller flash mob was not the only dancing I did at the Bat Mitzvah.

Oh no. It was not.

I was on that dance floor, with my white man’s overbite, and a pink tutu skirt, and evidence that I had visited the photobooth, and mustache on a stick, and shoes that look 8 sizes too big.

There is a story here, you guys.

Over the weekend—the one that was filled with lots of family time and lots of shots of Irish whiskey and lots of time with the lovely @kristabella—I casually mentioned that a huge Bar and Bat Mitzvah song back in my day was Motownphilly. to which my husband of 15 years said, “WHAT? I DO NOT KNOW THIS SONG?”

To which I replied, “Oh My Heavenly Days, Husband. First you reveal you pronounce the word ‘mustache’ and now you don’t know what Motownphilly is? YOU THINK YOU KNOW SOMEONE!”

To which he repled, “uh.”

To which I promptly proceeded to sing the entire song from beginning to end.

With a giant smile on my face.

CUT TO THE NIGHT OF THE BAT MITZVAH and Kristin, who knows me way too well, requested a song for me.

Motownphilly.

It came on.

And I danced.

Like I was 12.

With a giant smile on my face.

And a mustache on a stick.

Pronounced the right way, of course.