"5, 6, 7, 8!"

Doo, doo, doo ... Gosh, I feel impossibly inept. I hope they don't really expect me to do this dance in the show! Especially not in a leotard. I can see it now ... "The OM show, starring me as the sausage. No, wait, the uncoordinated sausage!"

"Ouch!"

Oh, geez. Now everyone is looking at me like I'm a deformed specimen from dance school hell. Yeah, yeah, my foot's fine. Just leave me alone. Go away!

"I'm fine, really. I'm okay."

Yeah, my extremities are intact, but that doesn't mean I can dance for squat. I feel like a tube steak with legs. I look like a tube steak with legs. Looks like, feels like, dances like a processed meat product ... must be a ... success! Yes, that's it! Whatever. Okay, now, concentrate. Okay, 1, 2, 3, kick. 1, 2, 3, OUCH!

"Ouch!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I'm always fine.

"Are you getting this part okay?"

"Yes, I'm getting it okay. I'm fine."

Like I said ... I'm always fine. That is, when I'm not attempting to dance! Sure ... I'm killing myself. Suicide in first position. I'm triple jettaying, backspinning, and falling on my derriere all in one move. How coordinated.

"1, 2, 3, Kick, smile, slide, kick!"

Kick, smile, slide, kick! I'd like to kick you in the head, thank you very much. You know, we're not all dancers, so why do you insist on turning your job as director into star performer? We know you're a better dancer than us, so stop playing beauty dance queen and do your job.

"Are you fine back there?"

"Yes, I have it down ..."

Geez. Make that ... the OM show starring Miss America and her sidekick sausage. It's not fair that someone as pretty as she should be so talented. But hey, we can't all be beautiful. Then who would we pick on! Ouch!

Maybe I should just give up. I'd rather be a processed meat product with dignity than this. 1