Rollin'

Those of us whose names involve "Mary" and who live on a river are legally required to enjoy this song, even moreso if it involves floor-rolling.

The only dances I attended at my high school, other than those at which I worked the concession stand (oh, braces, an aversion to alcohol, and the original Mercury Seven astronauts in my locker... I stood no chance, my friends, no chance at all) were the annual Father-Daughter dances. At an all-girl's high school, you can host such a thing and not invite a lawsuit.

In my freshman year, my sister and I danced to "Unforgettable" with one arm around our dad's waist and our hands clasping one another's. Lovely; but then there were the dust stains on our puffy-shouldered dresses, made stiff and undrapable by the highly unfortunate upholstery-like fabric so popular during the Clinton administration. The fault for this is laid at the feet of "Proud Mary."

It demanded coordination on a mass scale which we normally attempted only at, well, Mass. The ladies form two parallel lines and sit on the floor, legs straight out and together, feet facing. (The flats and low heels had long been left at the table with the purses.) Verses called for a sway-clap, a thing bad enough on its own and certaintly more acceptable in a fourteen-year-old than the thirtysomething I am these days.

It paid off at the chorus, when we rollin', rollin', rollin'ed to the right, then left, then right again. There was no arm-spinning or simple twisting of the obliques; this was a full-on log roll, French braids scraping the floor and clip-on earrings skittering up next to the DJ table.

"People on the river are happy to give"... yeah. Happy to give the world a definitive answer as to whether or not we are wearing thigh-highs or full pantyhose, which is why the horrified fathers all fled to the bar as soon as those guitars started.