Y'all want some sweet tea?

My building’s laundry room plays some admittedly poppin’ music, to which I was bopping along while measuring out a ladleful of my All Small & Mighty (Fresh Rain - only the best for my socks).

Having deposited the proper coinage, I gracefully, as always, dance to the door to Taio Cruz’s Dynamite. I obligingly throw my hands up in the air because you sometimes ey-oh, gotta let go. At this specific moment, the old Asian lady ahead of me (let’s backtrack: there is an elderly Chinese woman in the laundry room as well, she has been collecting her laundry from the dryer and adding it to what appears to be a well-loved, overstuffed Sponge Bob wheely bag) sees my motion out of the corner of her eye. She fully stops, turns around, and flashes me a “Fine, bitch, go ahead” stare as she motions with her hand towards the door. I fear my (graceful, I tell you) dance moves have been misinterpreted and sheepishly apologize as I open the door for her and her Sponge Bob bag. As we stand awkwardly side-by-side in the elevator, I pause to consider why Taio only throws his hands up in the air some of the time.