I’m outing myself, right here, right now:
I love SYTYCD.
I love a lady who runs funny, dancing in her nightie to a bit of Lana.
I love pops and krumps and jumps and pumps. (Or whatever you call them.)
I love genres and passion and chorey and chemistry and the journey.
I love that they think their lives will change.
I am a bit cross that Jason isn’t on any more. Ahhh, Jason. We were the perfect match, both of us a little bitchy, a little bossy, a little bit mouthy. Until I found it was apparently unlikely that we would be betrothen.
Thanks to SYTYCD I now know everything about dance. I can predict how the judges will judge. I can tell when Carrie will cry. In fact, I think I probably could go on the show myself by now, such is my turn-out and arm-styling. I think there is a place for a new genre: 80s dance, replete with White Man’s Overbite. And I’m a natural.
Before you mock me, let’s be completely honest: it is better than the Winter Olympics. Quite frankly, I’ve had about all I can take of all that cold and the curling. The curling was funny at first, but now? Not so much. However I would invite them over to sweepmop my floors. We have white tiles, and one big hairy furball who sheds all the time, leaving a trail of grey hair all over the joint. And we also have a cat.
So now you know.
Now you must excuse me, Graham Norton is about to start, the furball has absconded to another room to watch gold medal ice-hockey or some shit, and I have a secret Tim Tam stash to inhale whilst I practice my plies.
Do any of you even like the Winter Olympics?
And who will win SYTYCD?