The Bequest of the Shotgun Willy’s dance floor
I admit it. I have a complicated and rich history with the dance floor at Shotgun Willy’s. I have lit it up many, many nights – sometimes surrounded by a thick crowd, and on occasion, all by myself. Literally. By myself. Like a boss.
I’ve fist-pumped, grinded, bounced, leg-kicked, two-stepped, and head-banged on that dance floor. Every so often, on a particularly crazy night, I would pull out my always-a-good-idea-in-theory-but-never-in-reality, face-down tushie-up dance move (often busted out to Easy E’s Gimme that Nutt).
My point is, whether I was out on the town for ladies night, game night, fight night or comedy night, at some point during the night you could bet your left gimme-that-nutt I'd end up at Shotgun Willy’s, flipping my hair and laughing breathlessly with my sweaty, sexy girlfriends on the dance floor. It was awesome.
And even though I lived in the Okanagan during most of my Roaring Twenties, I returned home to Cranbrook often. Dancing at Shotguns was just one of those things that somehow found itself into my life on a quarterly basis. My job changed; my goals changed. I grew as a person. I stumbled my way from girl to woman. But the call of the Shotgun Willy’s dance floor continued to faithfully seduce me, throughout it all.
Then, out of the blue, something big happened.
One night, not so long ago, I wiggled my way off a Kelowna dance floor right into some guy's arms. Some guy became my guy. My guy became my love. My love became my life. My life returned my love. And then we had a baby. And life and love was totally redefined.
I moved my family to Cranbrook. It called to us. There’s nothing like moving back to your hometown to make you realize how many things have actually changed. Without ever consciously realizing it, and despite a blurry decade-long passionate affair, the Shotgun Willy’s dance floor and I had broken up. It was an amicable separation, and we remain polite friends, crossing paths once in a blue moon, where I offer a quick booty shake for old time’s sake. However, our relationship has never been the same.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t still dance. I dance more now than I ever have before.
I dance around the house with my two sons, ages 3 and 4. I wiggle in the kitchen while cooking dinner. I ‘shake what momma gave me’ during the Saturday family dance parties, sending dust particles swirling in the early-morning sunlight. I sway to music, in the comfort of my husband's arms, in the glow of a Kootenay campfire. And on special occasions, when I feel really silly, I’ll attempt the face-down tushie-up move, just to make sure I still got it.
Yeh, I still got it.
But with all this sporadic dancing taking place in my life…I don’t have time to put on eyeliner and find a dance floor.
Knowing this, and being perfectly content at the thought, I bequeath the Shotgun Willy’s dance floor to all the fun and flirty 20-something year-olds with gyrating hips and plumped up lips. Have fun ladies. Don't sprain an ankle, don’t wear flip flops, and may the power of the Shotgun Willy’s dance floor be with you.