All day at work as I’m proofing page upon page of incredibly uninteresting Citator entries (so uninteresting, in fact, that if I were to describe it now you might stop reading this blog post at approximately this point right here [x]), my mind wanders to more interesting things,* such as incredibly interesting blog post ideas.
But by the time I’ve served my 7 hours at the proofing desk and have managed to push and shove my way to the train station through rush-hour pedestrian traffic and to tolerate with only thinly veiled disdain the man’s elbow in the seat next to me on the train clearly usurping no less than one-fourth of my seat in the shadow of his trashy free evening newspaper en route to the little section of London that I call home, well, I have either forgotten all the very-interesting things I was going to blog about or I could just want for nothing more than to make some egg and chips for dinner and curl up on the couch to watch the legally** downloaded episode of the newest Glee on my iPad.
Well, I’ve eaten my egg and chips and I’ve watched my episode of Glee.
And it’s only 9:30pm, so I have nothing to stop me from blogging, right?
Well, except for that thing. The thing having to do with me forgetting all the interesting things I thought I had to blog about.
Which makes me pretty uninteresting, I guess.
I was a fan of the tap dancing number on this week’s episode of Glee.
I’ve always wanted to learn how to tap dance. I once had a pair of tap shoes that I just wore around the house because the clickity-clack noises made it so that I could almost PRETEND that I knew how to tap dance.
I think I bought them at a neighbour’s garage sale after I worked outside at my own family’s garage sale at the annual neighbourhood-garage-sale day when I was 8 years old and sold my impressively large My Little Pony collection off at $.25 a pony whilst getting a burn from the sweltering central Florida summer sun.
Those ponies would be so hot on eBay right now.
Still, at least I got to pretend that I was a tap dancer for a whole three weeks that summer before I annoyed the fuck out of my family and was thus made to realise that I was, in fact, NOT a tap dancer and was, instead, just a fat kid with a farmer’s tan and completely impractical patent leather shoes.
*let me assure you that this doesn’t in any way negatively affect my mad proofreading skills.