The Spirit of the Dance and Plastic Baggies

You may think that, with Anne Elisabeth hogging the computer and preventing yours truly from sharing the deepness of my deeps with the lot of you, that I would, thus thwarted, succumb and spend my days doing nothing but nap the nap of the frustrated!

Oh, no.

I have been exploring my creative side. Just the other day, I invented, choreographed, and performed a whole new dance for the benefit of my beloved and appreciative Rohan-muffin. He, being the soulful type, understood the poetry of my performance. Anne Elisabeth, being the wretched type, didn't get it at all and snickered the while.

I know that you are all readers of far superior taste than that of Anne Elisabeth, so I thought I would take the time to share with you some still shots of my elegance as caught on film. Prepare yourselves for beauty unparalleled!

First we have: The breathless hush before I make my entrance . . .

Then, the moment: The pure, shining moment when I enter, my costume donned.

"Excuse me! Clear the stage! I'm about to perform!"

"Uh, sorry, Minerva . . ."

Now, I strike a pose, ready for the music of the soul to play, for the living poetry of movement to take over my being!

I roll! I swoop! I spin! I twirl!

 



Was there ever a being of such grace, such majesty as I?

"What???"

"I don't get it, Minerva. Wha's wif da plastic baggy and the writhin' 'round onna floor?"

"It's art, Minion."

"What?"

"You couldn't possibly understand. Kindly remove yourself from my stage and watch from a respectful distance."

"I jus' fink she looks kinda weird . . ."

A soul as scorched with the Flames of Dance as mine cannot be understood by mere mortals!