I'm a Good Dancer

A few weeks ago, my wife Megan and I were at a friend's wedding. We had some drinks and did some dancing. I think of myself as someone who is not a good dancer. According to an email I just got, after reviewing her video footage, the bride agreed:

"I can see you dancing and it makes me think that the dj is horrible. You have this way of moving that looks like, 'Why are we dancing to Footloose? Oh well. I am going to make the best of it and swing my arms from side to side because Megan told me to act like I'm having a good time.' - The idea of you being forced to dance to Footloose makes me happy. Oh, also, my mom loves my breasts."

My dancing was so bad that she thought the DJ had to be responsible. Because no person could move themselves in such a way without help. As if better music would somehow transform me into Usher. Or even someone who isn't tone deaf.

I have "this way of moving..." It's not even really dancing. Just "moving." Almost like it's independent of the music. I'm just moving around and there happens to be dance music playing concurrently. Purely coincidence. Unrelated.

I don't know what to say about that last line. I don't know what it means or how I was supposed to respond. It does make me wonder if that's normal. Surely it would be weird if her dad loved her breasts. I wonder if my dad loves my dick. I assume not. And I have no intentions of finding out. Do parents talk to each other about how attractive/unattractive their kids are? I guess they have to. I know we would.