If you haven’t had a chance to see Kiki Archer’s latest interview, you missed out on the opportunity to see her eat a worm. Yep, you read that write. She was dared to either twerk or eat a worm. She actually chewed up and swallowed a wasabi flavored worm and kept it down. Mad props to you, Kiki.
The vid got me thinking about the day hell freezes over and I score an interview. Chances are, it won’t take place on the finals course of American Ninja Warrior and my dare won’t be to navigate the Spider Wall with my mad parkour skills. Insert previous post about an injury to my leg from an attempt to parkour at a local park. All that aside, I know for me, worm-eating seemed to be the less pleasant of the two dares, so I set out to make myself a twerking expert.
First, I searched youtube for an educational video about the do’s and don’ts of twerking. I’d like to say for the record, it should be just the don’ts of twerking. I found one with a woman who certainly looked as though she would have mad twerking skills and I set about to follow her step-by-step instructions and turn myself into a dancing queen.
With important key phrases like “drop it like it’s hot”, “arch” and “thrust”, I knew I had found a gem. Phone in hand, loose jogging pants for freedom of movement and a willing spirit, I worked my hips in concentrated slow motion in time with my talented “teacher”. She taught me how to twerk both cheeks at the same time, twerk one at a time and the all-important side-to-side twerk. Magic was happening, I was becoming a twerking queen.
After learning each important, but disconnected step, she encouraged me to put on some fast music and put those moves together in a move that can only be described as someone having convulsions while standing up. But I ignored my saner side and continued on. I knew this was a social movement and I was a butterfly. With perfection in hand, I tested those moves on Sarah, even threw out my own “drop it like it’s hot.” In my eagerness to show off my newly acquired skill, I had neglected to realize the torque of my twerk and I propelled Sarah into the counter with all the finesse of a 300-lb sumo wrestler trying to win Dancing with the Stars. I had failed. More importantly, my mad dancing skills had failed.
I did apologize and even offered to kiss it and make it better. As I put my dancing shoes and stretchy “twerking” pants away, I realized, as did the daring Ms. Archer, that perhaps the lesser of the two evils really was the poor little worm. So like Wesley from The Princess Bride, I am building up my immunity to iocaine powder on the off chance I do receive an outrageous dare, because twerking will never, ever happen…again.