She Could Cut a Rug, Now
As much as Ethel was good at dancing, she couldn’t hold a candle to her sister Roberta. Roberta loved dressing up in fine clothes. She liked to see herself as a fashion plate always wearing the latest this or that. Her hair had to be done up in the most current style with pomades and such – straight one minute, curled the next. Ethel often wondered how her hair managed to stay on her head as much fussing as she did over it. But above all that, Roberta liked to dance.
Maybe because she was good at it, or maybe because she was good at it made her like to dance, Roberta never even close to being the philosopher Ethel was, didn’t care. When the music started so did she, and after that, it was all she wrote. Stopping a runaway train would have been a far sight easier than trying to stop Roberta from dancing once the music started up.
First, it was just a toe tap. Then her whole foot would get in on it, levered on her heel like she’d do. It’d get to flopping ‘round to the beat like a fish just yanked out of the water. Before she knew it, her knee would come on into the action and her whole leg would get to pumping. That’s when you had better look out because Roberta would grab you if you happened to be standing by and haul you out onto the dance floor. She’d throw you around like a puppy with a toy. Didn’t matter one wit who she’d take hold of, if nobody was around, she’d dance on her own.
She’d commence to move like a colony of ants had taken up housekeeping in her underdrawers. Blessed with a right smart B-O-9 (backside), she’d shake that thing like to make a dog take note. A little shy up top, she worked her hindquarters to make up for what she lacked in the shimmy department, shaking and gyrating it going every which way bringing to mind a plateful of dropped lime jello.
Once she worked up a full head of steam, it was a thing to behold. Roberta danced like she had become the music. That woman could flat out cut a rug.