My friend Ann Marie is a well-respected communicator. I’ve known her for years and watched her command the most difficult of national crises. However, she recently revealed another surprising skill: This woman can tear up a dance floor.

Evidence of Ann Marie’s toe-tapping talent was shared for all to see at her son’s wedding reception. In a matter of minutes of your typical sweet-but-wake-me-when-it’s-over waltz, the mom-son duo morphed into some Grammy-grabbing moves that would make Jagger weep and Gaga wish for more.

Mind you, this was no 30-second routine; their dance lasted the entire Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk” song (high marks for song choice.) And they were gooooood. They made Beyonce and Justin Timberlake look like polyesters at prom.

What most surprised me wasn’t that Ann Marie could cut a rug, but that she did so in front of hundreds of guests and a video camera. I mean, this is someone who is normally very poised and measured, as you would expect from a seasoned leader who isn’t trippin’ on finesse.

But, weddings make people do uninhibited things.

You’ve seen them on social media — dances where the father-of-the bride is writhing on the floor doing the worm. The quiet newlyweds rockin’ the floor to Chance the Rapper. Maybe it’s all that pent-up emotion spilling out on one of the most important days of our lives. We just let loose.

And, boy, is it fun. I love me some wedding receptions when there is a DJ. Mike knows in advance not to plan on bolting after the toast because this mama is gonna boogie.

Fact is, weddings today with their hip-hop fathers-of-the bride and funked-up families have set a high bar.

I kind of want a wedding reception do-over. Well-orchestrated get-downs weren’t common in the 1800s when Mike and I got married. Although our reception had a band, Mike and I stuck to the center of the floor rocking back and forth to John Coltrane’s “My One and Only Love” looking lovingly into each other’s eyes with just one thought: “When can we eat?”

I wonder — what if we could have brought down the houzzzzz? From Coltrane to Kanye? I can just imagine the possibilities.

And, my goodness, don’t we need a break now in this upside down world? Brexit, impeachment, wildfires, Orange Vanilla Coke – amidst it all, one thing is certain: No one ever died from the fox trot.

I’ve kept the video of Ann Marie’s magical moment. From time to time, I click on it to remind me of the absolute joy of finding absolute joy however we can create it. This is why my Google Personal Assistant has “Amy’s Dance Playlist” on auto play. With just one “Hey, Google,” I’m groovin’ in the kitchen with my dogs to Electric Light Orchestra.

Oh, it gets better — my friend Gail, who knows my penchant for dancing, gave me a countertop disco ball that is exquisitely positioned for optimal use on my kitchen counter. With a remote. This. Is. A. Friend. To. Love.

Watching Ann Marie and her son dance is almost better than a Betty Cake. Yes, I said it. Initially, I think how I am so unworthy of her awesomeness. Then, I find my disco ball remote, yell, “Hey Google” and I’m 24-karat magic.

In the words of Sir Bruno Mars, I’m a straight masterpiece.