Damned-to-dance

Hell-o, there!

I’ve been sitting at home for the past few days, trying to come up with new excuses to bunk school (may god bless my creative soul!). A wave of homesickness comes crashing down at me the second I give school – and that doomed, DOOMED, dance routine- a thought and I feel like going and giving mommy bear a hug.

It all started in august, when we began with our annual function practices. Now, I’m very much into dramatics and oration, and when I didn’t get a good role in the play (for the 3rd consecutive year, thank you very much.), I was left shattered.

Then I tried getting my name registered for the orchestra (actually my boyfriend did so for me, and yes, I do have a boyfriend but that’s a long story…) but my efforts were in vain (his, actually).

I tried becoming an art volunteer as well, and guess what??????

I failed again! (Surprise! surprise!)

And now, they’re making me dance. *laughs so hard, starts to cry*

So, I am supposed to dance very gently, with intricate hand movements and an elegant posture, twirling around smoothly making the audience stare at me with awe…

BUT

There’s this one teenie-tiney problem with it – I can’t dance.

So, while the girls are busy being swan princesses, I go about with the routine more like a half –blind duckling, bumping into someone one second and stepping on someone’s foot the other. I then take various forms such as superman, batman, Spiderman, a pigeon and basically anything that flies.

I sometimes become an ostrich as well; especially when everyone’s staring and I turn as pink as the diagram of the vagina (did you ever notice they’re all pink in color?)

After finally mustering up the courage to face this As-Big-As-Nicky-Minaj’s-Ass problem, I will go to school tomorrow, and show ‘em that I can dance………………..

TERRIBLE enough to make them throw me out themselves.

Mission Damn-this-dance will be successful.

Love,

The Proc-ass-tinator.

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