It’s time to DANCE

On Tuesday I unlatched the car seats, vacuumed out a metric ton of goldfish and sand from my minivan seats, and piled three friends into the car for a trip to see Ellen.

First we stopped at the Grove, where we saw A.C. Slater.

We had a giant lunch at Wood Ranch, and took full advantage of half-price wine Tuesdays.

Then we headed to the show, which apparently was being taped on the surface of the sun. We had to stand outside for about four minutes, and you have never heard such whining from a group of women before. We were sweating, people, and we were pissed.

We got in, and seated in the generously air-conditioned studio. See that blurry figure toward the back? That’s me on my television debut. Hi, Mom!

Perhaps you know that everyone dances in the audience? I love Ellen, but I don’t dance in public. And I didn’t have nearly enough of that half-price wine to have stopped caring. Still, peer pressure and all, I danced, and I didn’t die from humiliation, or spontaneously combust, so hooray!

It was totally worth the tag-team babysitting situation I had to work out, and driving into LA, which I normally hate. Driving with people who can buckle their own seat belts and carry on a conversation is totally enjoyable. Who knew?

Oh, and we won a year of free Tide, so even my husband thought it was well worth it!