I sang my heart out. Night and day. Day and night.
I danced a good dance. Jiggled. Bounced. Rocked my hips in a hypnotic rhythm.
"I'm the one you need," I told them. "You won't be sorry."
But it just didn't work out. Wrong dance. Wrong song. Wrong day.
Until finally. They heard me.
And I got it.
7 days. The matinee.
Sure. The house was quiet. And mostly empty.
But I didn't care.
I had made it.
No more weird dances. Crappy songs. Begging, pleading, and selling my soul on a daily basis like a whore on 7th Avenue.
I HAD MADE IT.
Until last week.
Apparently my run is over. My last bow taken. Final show of...
"Quiet time in your room for 2 hours" now showing. It's clearly not as entertaining as the nap, but it will have to do.