Happy Feet

I have always thought of myself as a pretty good dancer. The music would start and my feet would want to move. Of course, the rumor was there had been some quantity of alcoholic beverage involved, but I can neither confirm nor deny. No doubt, some envious cretin spreading scurrilous slander.


Recently, when transferring from my wheelchair to the car or the toilet, I have been trying to practice my dance steps but it seems the people holding my arms to keep me upright get a little annoyed when I try to do the fancy footwork. It seems there is no appreciation for the artistry. I mean, c’mon, just because we all end up in a heap on the floor is no reason to get annoyed and threaten to leave me lying there. It’s just pure jealousy I say!