If that word brings a dance style to mind, you’re probably around my age. At the very least, you’re a Madonna fan (or hater).

I was out on the dance floor with a guy that had gone to my high school. He was an excellent dancer — much more so than I. A song had just ended when the DJ announced a dance contest. I wanted no part of it but Rick pulled my hands and me back to the floor. Madonna’s “Vogue” blasted through the speakers and, like musical chairs, when the music stopped, we had to “strike a pose”. Good god, I’m old.

Anyone caught moving after the music stopped was asked to leave the dance floor. The dancers dwindled and my kneecaps started to vibrate when I realized I was still voguing while the whole club stood and watched the elimination process.

Pretty soon there were just a few couples out on the floor. Keeping in mind that I tended to weave my way to hide in the middle of any dance crowd, you’d understand why this was turning out to be this shy and clumsy girl’s worst nightmare.

Over and over, the DJ started and stopped the music to catch us moving. Honestly, I contemplated walking off the dance floor all on my own without being tapped on the shoulder. The faces surrounding the square dance floor blurred and distorted while my mind struggled to accept that this was real life and actually happening to me. We had gone too far to go back now. I felt my dry tongue stick to the roof of my mouth while I smiled thickly through the haze and tried to limit my movements so I wouldn’t look like a total ass when forced to freeze on the spot. There were no cell phones back then, which is a shame because I’d be curious to see what impressive dance moves I was able to pull out of my ass.

I must have done something right because we won! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I left the club that night with my very own copy of the Dick Tracy Original Motion Picture Soundtrack CD!

…not even close to being worth my everlasting mortification.