Random Paragraph #22

37 weeks he’d spent at Miss Daisy’s Academy of Dance. 37 weeks foxtrotting, waltzing and quick stepping. 37 weeks filled with bruises, blisters, & calluses. All in the name of the dance. So, as he watched the great white swim away with what used to be the lead leg in a formidable paso doble, he cursed. At the shark, at God, and at Miss Daisy herself. She’d told him time and time again he’d never have a professional career in ballroom... that he just didn’t have, as she put it, “the legs of a dancer.” Well now, thanks to fate (and the mighty carcharodon carcharias), she’d finally been proven right.