I’m outing myself, right here, right now:

I love SYTYCD.

I love a lady who runs funny, dancing in her nightie to a bit of Lana.

I love pops and krumps and jumps and pumps.  (Or whatever you call them.)

I love genres and passion and chorey and chemistry and the journey.

I love that they think their lives will change.

I am a bit cross that Jason isn’t on any more.  Ahhh, Jason.  We were the perfect match, both of us a little bitchy, a little bossy, a little bit mouthy.  Until I found it was apparently unlikely that we would be betrothen.

Thanks to SYTYCD I now know everything about dance.  I can predict how the judges will judge.  I can tell when Carrie will cry.  In fact, I think I probably could go on the show myself by now, such is my turn-out and arm-styling.  I think there is a place for a new genre: 80s dance, replete with White Man’s Overbite.  And I’m a natural.

Before you mock me, let’s be completely honest: it is better than the Winter Olympics.   Quite frankly, I’ve had about all I can take of all that cold and the curling.  The curling was funny at first, but now?  Not so much.  However I would invite them over to sweepmop my floors.  We have white tiles, and one big hairy furball who sheds all the time, leaving a trail of grey hair all over the joint.  And we also have a cat.

So now you know.

Now you must excuse me, Graham Norton is about to start, the furball has absconded to another room to watch gold medal ice-hockey or some shit, and I have a secret Tim Tam stash to inhale whilst I practice my plies.

Do any of you even like the Winter Olympics?

And who will win SYTYCD?