My daughter just loves to dance.  Any time she hears music, I know that the rhythm is going to get her.  (Did you just start hearing Gloria Estefan.  Hah!  Good luck getting that tune out of your head.)  So I wasn’t too surprised last weekend when we went to Red Robin and she stood up in our booth and danced nonstop to the constant stream of music.  I thought she was being so cute and well-behaved that I wasn’t paying too close attention to her dance moves until Dan brought something to my attention.

“Megan, I think she’s slapping her bottom,” he said.

I glanced over, and sure enough, she’s doing that skanky dance move that should be reserved only for night and strip clubs.  I was of course appalled and made her sit down immediately.  I can only hope that none of the other tables saw it and called DCFS.  I was at a loss trying to think of where my not-even-two-year-old would have learned such a thing.  I tried to think back to the dances from So You Think You Can Dance—because I definitely overexposed her to that show, but I couldn’t pinpoint any with that particular move.  I remained in shock throughout dinner.

On our way back home, we stopped at a Redbox and picked up a movie.  Little H’s babysitter owns the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie and had mentioned how much she loved it so I was happy to see it was available.  As soon as the movie started, H’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yeah, Mommy, Meow Meow, Yay!”  Then she proceeded to slap her bottom.

Two thoughts hit me at the same time.  (1) My daughter thinks that chipmunks are the same as cats and (2) she must have picked up her new dance move from this movie.  I watched the movie with extra scrutiny and found the responsible scene in the last half.  There is about three seconds during a chipmunk photo shoot in which Tobias Funke (I’m not sure what his name is in the movie or in real life and I don't want to learn it) says, “Love the camera, show me those eyes, spank it, spank it”, and he and one of the chipmunks slap their rears.  That’s it.  Out of a one and a half hour movie, she pulls the worst part of it out to mimic.  She couldn’t learn that chipmunks are different than cats, but she could learn the disgusting dance move that would embarrass and shame her mother.

I’m trying to decide what the next course of action may be, but in the meantime, don’t be surprised if we avoid any public place that might be playing music.  I may even have to start listening to NPR while we’re in the car together.  It might not be a bad idea, anyway, to counteract the endless hours of Michael Savage brainwashing her dad has submitted her to.