I’m so BFABB-ulous, I’ve decided to start my own dance gang. We’re going to wear matching satin jackets and challenge you to a dance off. We’ll meet up on some deserted street with a lot of conveniently placed benches and metal trashcans that we can use as dance props, then jump on things and gyrate randomly until someone gives up or gets dizzy. So prepare to be served, but not dropped like it’s hot, because at the after-dance-battle pot luck these dance-themed dishtowels can double as pot holders. I don’t want you spilling any of your wack-ass casserole on my limited edition Air Force Ones.