My DWTS Audition Tape (Probably Wonāt Get Called Back š)
Let me start by saying this: Iāve got rhythm. Or at least, thatās what I told myself when I decidedāhalf as a joke, half as a secret dreamāto film an audition tape for Dancing With the Stars. Spoiler alert: the only stars involved were the ones I saw spinning around my head after tripping over my own feet.
I set the stage in my living room. Moved the coffee table, shoved the recliner into the corner, and created what I thought was a perfect little dance floor. I even set up my phone on a tripod, because if youāre going to embarrass yourself, you might as well capture it in HD. For costume flair, I threw on the sparkliest shirt I own (sequins that scratched like sandpaper) and a pair of pants far too tight for lunges. The look screamed, āBackup dancer for a 90s boy band.ā
Music queued, lights dimmed, heart poundingāI was ready. The opening notes blasted, and I launched into what can only be described as an interpretive hybrid of salsa, freestyle, and āguy trying to shake a spider out of his sleeve.ā My arms flailed with confidence, my hips swayed with something resembling intention, and for a solid 15 seconds, I thought, Iāve got this.
Then reality hit.
Mid-spin, I caught my reflection in the TV screen. Instead of a sleek, sultry ballroom contestant, I looked like a windmill in distress. That threw me off just enough to miss my next step, sending me crashing into the recliner Iād tried so hard to move out of the way. The recliner, naturally, toppled onto the dog, who barked like the audience I never asked for.
But the show must go on. I sprang up, grinning like it was all part of the act, and powered through. Except now my pantsāthose traitorous, tight pantsāhad split right down the seam. Thatās right. I gave my imaginary audience a little extra cha-cha-cha that no judge would have approved.
Still, I pressed forward. I attempted a dramatic dip move, solo, which basically turned into me squatting too low and not being able to stand back up gracefully. Picture a confused crab trying ballet. By now, sweat was pouring, my sequined shirt was sticking to me like cling wrap, and my dog had decided to join in, circling my feet like a backup dancer determined to trip me.
The grand finale was supposed to be a triumphant leap. Instead, it was me leaping, slipping on the dogās squeaky toy, and crashing into the tripod. The phone toppled, capturing nothing but a close-up of my carpet as I shouted, āIāM FINE!ā in the background.
And that, friends, is my audition tape. No slick moves, no elegant twirlsājust raw, chaotic comedy disguised as dance. Will DWTS call me back? Highly doubtful. But will they laugh if they watch it? Absolutely. And honestly, isnāt that the point?
At least if I donāt make it to the ballroom, Iāve already mastered slapstick. Somebody call Americaās Funniest Home VideosāI think Iāve got a better shot there.
