Today amuses me. @theMaykazine Twitter Times:*

• Lady Gaga Kanye West tour canceled.
  
• Rio de Janeiro wins the 2016 Olympic bid.
  
• MC Hammer kicking off Hardly Strictly in Golden Gate Park.
  

I pushed MC Hammer’s daughter and made her cry.
On that MC Hammer tip, you may or may not have heard my MC Hammer story. So, first off, MC Hammer used to live in Fremont. (“So did I.” -Madonna, a la her MTV VMAs Michael Jackson tribute [But no, really, I did.]) I believe the gates still read “HAMMER TIME” on his old house. He no longer lives there, but when he did in the 90s, his daughter and I were in the same jazz dance class.

One day, my teacher, Miss Becky, placed me in the center of the front line of girls. She pointed the exact spot where she wanted me to stand. When I walked over to my designated area, it was occupied by A’Keiba Hammer.

I kindly asked A’Keiba to move.

She didn’t. I said, “That’s my spot.”

She said, “No, it isn’t!”

I said, “That’s my spot, that’s where Miss Becky told me to stand.”

A’Keiba retaliated, full of spite, “No! I’m here!”

Seeing quite clearly that Lil Miss Hammer and I were not seeing eye to eye and arguing from different perspectives of that which is true and that which is merely desired, I resorted to a gentle act of kindness. Ever so tenderly, I reached my arm out to Miss Hammer, partially to console her raging child emotions, partially to direct her physically on exactly where to stand. By the laws of 7th grade science, there was no way our two beings were going to be able to occupy the same exact space. Besides, I was taller.

So I lightly touched Miss Hammer’s shoulder, applying just enough force to get her moving toward stage right.

Lil Miss Hammer, perhaps genetically inclined to the melodramatics of the stage, then collapsed to the ground, spraying the floor, me, and all the air around her like a sprinkler filled with forced tears. She was throwing a tantrum.

Miss Becky looked over from the stereo in alarm. “What happened?” she asked.

“SHE PUSHED ME!” Miss Hammer cried.

Taken aback by this false accusation, I quickly rose to the occasion, “I did not! She was standing in my spot. She wouldn’t move! I was telling her where to go.”

Miss Hammer continued to cry and I stood there, no idea what to do. Here I was at dance class just wanting to dance. And here was Miss Hammer, blaming me for violence that never took place. Miss Becky handled the situation swiftly and with no extra questions. “A’Keiba, go sit on the side until you feel better. Mayka, you can dance where I told you to dance.”

And so, Miss Hammer sat down on the rolled up carpet beneath the toddlers’/children’s ballet bars, where she continued to pout for the rest of the class. Me? I sucked it up and persevered for the rest of the half hour. After all, the show must go on.

* Actual TwitterTim.es