There's a new GAP commercial on television that fuses footage of Audrey Hepburn from the film"Funny Face" dancing to AC/DC's "Back in Black." While I realize some purists are spilt on the tastelessness of using a dead cinema icon to promote skinny black pants, what I love is that it's provided my singing/dancing friend Jewels with a new piece for his repertoire. Today, he came bursting into my office and hollered, "A girl's gotta dance, a girl's gotta DANCE and I need a release!" before launching into Hepburn's energenic routine of turns, kicks and high steps. He did so beautifully, even without the skinny black pants. I had to applaud.

He actually has the right idea. It IS necessary to occasionally break into dance when the inspiration hits you. We all need the release that Audrey espoused. Unfortunately, like the dribbling of song lyrics that run uncontrollably from my mouth at unpredictable moments, I am often inspired to do a little dance at the most inappropriate times. My grocery store, which plays fabulous R&B, is a prime arena for sophomoric displays of butt shaking. Standing in line at Loehmann's often inspires the odd shoulder shake and shuffle. Hip hop at Radio Shack causes regrettable lapses into The Robot. To his credit, if Fang is with me at these moments, he often joins in and has been known to frighten small children when executing pelvic thrusts.

My twin brother Marv is even worse. It is evident to me how spastic a dancer I must appear when I see him launch into one of his stock dance routines (I believe there are three total with variations on a theme for each--regrettably, one is The Robot). Since we shared a womb for nine months, I'm convinced his rhythmically challenged, vaguely seizure-like displays of artistic expression must be a shared trait. But bless him, like me, he doesn't give a rat's ass what people think. When we're together, no location or dance style is off limits, especially if it can serve to inspire mirth between the two of us. And Lord help us if alcohol is involved. Once in Mexico after quaffing some rather potent tequila, Marv went missing. As we looked for him, we suddenly saw a circle of people, clapping and whooping encouragement. Don't you know Marv was there in the center, doing a Russian Kozak routine, jumping down on his bended knees, arms thrown up above his head and puncturing the air with the odd "HEY!!"

MaryCatherineFullofGrace and I learned to dance watching the MTV of our day: "Soul Train" and "American Bandstand." We picked up what we could, but I think she would agree we probably gleaned the most beneficial knowledge from the fabled "Soul Train" dance line. The dance line allowed you to study individual style and technique and in the living room of my house, we imitated what we saw coming down the line. One style in particular, usually represented by a woman in '70s disco harem pants, became my stock in trade: knees half bent, back arched back, hopping forward on the balls of her feet and raising the roof with her hands, always punctuated with a "WooWooWoo" battle cry. I confess I use it still. And of course we loved the end of the show when Don Cornelius would say (and we along with him), "We wish you love, peace...and SO-O-O-O-UL!" Yeah, we thought we were some bad ass mo fos once we had those moves down.

Look, it's OK to dance with yourself whenever the spirit moves you. Some psycho babble suggests that it releases endorphins that make you happy--people, what's not to love? So the next time you're watching TV and you hear that great old Natalie Cole tune used for the Match.com commercials, get off your ass and dance.