When the distinctive guitar riff suddenly throbbed from my countertop speakers, I was at my kitchen sink, innocently washing asparagus. It was a sonic blast from my long-ago past (and the deep archives of my iPod library): the twangy opening cadence of the B-52s’ retro-rock anthem, “Hero Worship.”
By the time Kate Pierson’s wailing vocal dropped a few seconds later, I was no longer in control of my body. My feet leaped as though the tiles beneath them were hot coals. My hips yanked me around the room as if propelled by their own motor, my arms flailed, my head tossed wildly. This wasn’t cute, Nancy Myers-film dancing, where I would have been coyly bashful when I realized my husband was watching from the doorway. This was more like a seizure.
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