Shake Your Groove ThingEli 3.2 is the world's worst dancer. I know this with absolute certainty, because before he arrived on the club scene, I was the world's worst dancer, so I am eminently qualified to assess disaster in this area. Eli's dancing style consists of two parts: one, holding your arms as he runs in place, driving his knees up to his chest, then suddenly turning and dragging your arm behind you as he spins you around. And around. Then more running in place with the high knee lift. This is all performed, mind you, with his toy electric toothbrush turned up to high speed. The toothbrush, a totem of prosperity, is as much a part of dancing as the music.
Gloria puts on some Rolling Stones today and Eli starts dancing. This goes on for a few minutes, then he suddenly sprints to the kitchen and back, holding his toothbrush over his head like the Olympic flame. Laughing. He does it again. And again. After about ten consecutive trips, I start counting, because I'm a guy and that's what we do. After twenty-five trips, I actually step off the distance he's covering on each trip.
Round trip=fourteen yards. Round trip=12.80 meters, for our international readers.
After thirty-five trips, he runs into the bathroom, pees, and returns. Naked. Still holding the toothbrush, of course.
Don't ask me what he did with the toothbrush while he was using the bathroom. I don't want to know.
Trip thirty-six and beyond are unhindered by the poor aerodynamics of clothing. After trip forty-three, he shouts "I AM EXHAUSTED!" and flops on the couch. Within a few seconds, though, he's recovered and says "I'M READY TO GO!" When he hits trip fifty, I start calculating the distance in my head. Fifty trips at fourteen yards a trip. Seven hundred yards.
Finally, after trip fifty-seven, he's done. The toothbrush is turned off, signifying the end of the event. 819 yards. Eli 3.2 has run nearly half a mile.
Fourteen yards at a time.