I just read a blurb about Martha Stewart which provoked both sympathy and loathing in my heart. Apparently, Ms. Stewart has a new worry to contend with in prison besides the shower room, holiday decorating contests (which her team lost despite claims about pay-offs to the guards) and bad food.
These concerns are merely trivial compared to the cruel and unusual punishment that the sadistic wardens had been saving for her all along. They had been toying with her with the start, but now the fangs have come out, the claws have been bared and the gauntlet has been thrown down - Stewart is taking line-dancing lessons.
Line-dancing is by far the worst, most idiotic kind of dancing that one could find in any part of the world. I would rumba, foxtrot, do the "lambada," lean back, breakdance or hustle before I would resort to line-dancing.
The very name conjures up images of overweight people who are squeezed into too tight blue jeans and listening to Billy Ray Cyrus. Then the mass of denim starts flailing about like they're having a collective seizure.
I pity the poor fool who stands in their way.
Although I have never had much love for anything or any product with Martha Stewart on the label, I must admit that I finally felt sorry for her - at least until I read she signed up voluntarily.
And then I remembered why I didn't much care that she went to prison in the first place.
-BDS
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