“Always dance in the kitchen.” That is really crap advice!
I did a Boogaloo and spilled a two-pound bag of rice.
While waltzing with a pan of oil I slopped some on the floor,
then trod in it and nearly did a cartwheel through the door.
I rumba-ed while I peeled the spuds and tango-ed as I stirred
some soup, but did my back in and I thought: This is absurd.
“Here’s how to have a happy marriage:’’ someone said to me,
“Always dance in the kitchen.” I can’t see how that can be
the way to wedded bliss. I grilled some sausages and jived,
but burnt myself so badly it’s a wonder I survived.
The kitchen is a place to cook, and wash up; that is all.
It’s not for dancing in; eventually you’re bound to fall.
I haven’t even mentioned knives – I just can’t bear to think
of slipping while you do a quickstep straight into the sink.
You foxtrot, samba, cha cha, all you like – though I’ll ask, “Why?”
I’ve done a Risk Assessment and the danger’s far too high!
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