With a shimmy here and a strut there

It began to rain just after we'd started our walk so I took my hat out of my coat pocket. Except it wasn't a hat; it was gloves. Not to worry, thinks I, I'll wear a poo bag. A clean one of course. But it didn't fit my head. 'Oh well, it'll probably stop soon. I'll make do without.'

'Thank goodness for that,' George said. 'It's bad enough putting up with you impersonating a very camp man.'

'It's not a camp man; it's Mick Jagger!'

George looked at me doubtfully. 'He didn't look like that in the video you showed me.'

'Not even in the pink trousers?'

'Nope.'

'Must be the slinky hips I'm lacking then. Ah, well, never mind. I'll practise my shimmy instead.'

'Just a minute,' George said. 'Give me a chance to put a distance between us.'

Now what did Ginny say? 'Shrug one shoulder. Now the other. And there you are: you're shimmying.'

George glanced back and shouted, 'You look like you have St. Vitus' dance.'

'You don't even know what that is!'

'Do too.'

Rats. It's humiliating when your dog knows more than you do.

Incidentally it didn't stop raining until we were nearly home.