Ms. La-Ti-Dah

I couldn't help but laugh last night as the diva walked in the club. She had a small entourage with her. Some dude looking helpless holding her hand while another just seemed to be their escort or something. As she enters the joint, all the guys stop to stare at her. Why? Well, first they think she's the be-all, end-all to dancing. Second, she makes sure to wear as little clothing as possible. She's hot. Don't get me wrong. Maybe I'd wear the same thing if I could. Um. No. I wouldn't. So she struts over to the bar and people clear the way for her. I leave and go dance. And you know what? She's watching me. Eyeing me more like it. I'm sure she had many opinions of me and my dancing. I don't really care. I couldn't help but laugh though. Her, sitting there, acting as if she owned the place. Well, Ms La-Ti-Dah... you don't own anything. Get out on the floor, sweat, and stop looking down your nose. You're not fooling anyone.