The New Dance Craze In Manchester

I'm not a very coordinated person.  If there's a crack in the sidewalk to trip over, I find it.  I've had my share of skinned knees over the years, and I was certainly never blessed with the gracefulness to be a dancer.  Until now.  Because in the past week or so, I've become an avid practitioner of the latest dance moves in Manchester-the .  It is a dance that requires neither grace nor artistry; all one needs is the ability to flail about wildly while shrieking. 

I first became adept at the latest fad on a walk last week in .  Prior to this, I've  never felt the need to wear protective headgear during a stroll through the park, but then again I've never been bombarded by nasty buzzing insects whose only mission before they die is to cause me great public humiliation.  (Actually, from what I've read about cicadas, that isn't their ONLY mission before they die, but this is a G-rated blog, and besides, I don't want to contemplate the details of ). 

Schroeder Park is a lovely  park, with beautiful bushes and big green trees.  Normally, this is a good thing; I appreciate the view as I'm chuffing up and down the hilly path.  Now, it is a sinister place, whose trees and shrubbery harbor large creepy insects intent on pelting me in the face.  I'm not all that afraid of bugs in general, but I do NOT like these noisy alien creatures.  And so four times, in three laps, I "danced."  All dignity vanished as I began my own personal cicada dance.  I twisted and turned and swatted and screeched in an attempt to escape their insect invasion upon my person.  During those moments it did not matter to me how I must have looked, I just wanted the darn things OFF of me. 

As I warily completed my final lap, approaching my car with a haste I usually can't manage after 3+ miles, I heard a screech.  And then another.  And I realized hey, I'm not the only one here in Manchester doing the Cicada Dance.

As I drove home, I  chuckled to myself  at some poor guy who was in his driveway washing his car and  "dancing."  And I laughed out loud in the grocery store parking lot when a woman did a special "auto dance" as a cicada flew through her open window. 

I'll be glad when the creepy crescendo of  amourous insects no longer fills the air in Manchester.  Until then, I'll "dance" like nobody's watching!