I emerged from the shower, reeking of maple syrup as usual, and heard the cat scuffling at the bathroom door to get in.

For reasons that I am still not entirely clear on, I flung the door open, twirled my towel like a matador’s cape, and announced “The Dance of the Waffle!”*

The cat got one look at this and bolted. I found her later in the studio, wedged between the gesso tub and a table leg, looking traumatized.

I have a coupla talents, and a coupla things I’m not bad at, but I know my limits. The dance world will just have to limp along without me.

*Keen observers, of which there better not have been any, might have noticed a certain kinship between the Dance of the Waffle and the drunken fratgirl boogie of the female orcs in World of Warcraft. Only less graceful.

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