Toronto Diary
1 min

Just in time for Pride: dance lessons!

From a chihuahua. Sure, why not? Every gay already owns one of these anyway, amirite, boys? *Up top*

Just in case you’re wondering, I can’t dance. At all. The downside of growing up in the suburbs is that you’re instilled with the idea that standing in one place and nodding noncommittally while leaning side-to-side is considered dancing. BUT NOT. ANY. MORE. Thank you, El Willy, the dancing chihuahua. You have shown me the light. And you’ve taught me a dance move that takes full advantage of my stupid, doofy velociraptor arms. Everybody flamenco!      
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