Blobby Does NOT Want to Dance

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Blobby loved two things more than anything: dancing and singing. Blobby danced when happy. Blobby danced when sad. Blobby once danced because a cloud looked funny. The dancing was a problem. Not for Blobby. For everyone else.

One morning, Blobby made a Very Serious Decision. “Today,” said Blobby, “I will sit. I will be still. I will be so quiet, even dust will be impressed.” Blobby sat down on the big purple beanbag. Blobby stuck a yellow star sticker on one nubby arm for luck.

One minute passed. Two minutes passed. A bird outside sang three little notes. Blobby's nub-foot tapped. Once. Twice. Three times. “That doesn't count,” Blobby whispered. “That was the foot. I didn't tell it to.”

Then Mop arrived. Mop was Blobby's neighbor — a tall, thin, extremely organized creature who carried a clipboard everywhere. “Blobby!” said Mop. “The Serious Silence Contest is coming to our street TODAY. Whoever stays quietest wins a trophy shaped like a sleeping snail.” “A snail trophy?” said Blobby. “That is the greatest thing I have ever heard.”

Blobby wanted that trophy very, very much. Blobby sat back down. Eyes shut. Nubs tucked in. A statue. Mop looked impressed. Mop wrote something on the clipboard. Then the radio in the kitchen turned on by itself. It played exactly the kind of song that makes your whole body forget what sitting is.

Blobby's left nub twitched. Blobby's right nub twitched. Blobby's middle wobbled — just a little. “I am a rock,” Blobby told themselves. “Rocks do not samba.” The music got louder. It had trumpets now. Blobby made a sound like a kettle about to boil.

BOING! Blobby shot off the beanbag like a cork from a bottle. Blobby spun. Blobby shimmied. Blobby did a move that had no name in any language. Mop stared. “I was stretching,” said Blobby, breathing hard. “That was medical.”

Mop crossed something off the clipboard. “You have twenty minutes before the judges arrive,” said Mop. “Try sitting somewhere with no music.” Blobby nodded firmly. “The garage. Perfect. Cold. Boring. Beautifully, wonderfully boring.” Blobby marched to the garage like a creature with a plan.

The garage was cold and quiet and smelled like old cardboard. Blobby sat on a crate. Excellent. Nothing here could possibly make Blobby dance. Then Blobby noticed the old tin watering can in the corner. It was dripping. Drip. Drip-drip. Drip. It had a rhythm. Blobby's eyes went very wide.

“No,” said Blobby aloud. “No no no no—” The dripping got faster. Like a tiny drum solo. Blobby stood up. Sat down. Stood up. “I REFUSE,” Blobby announced to the watering can. The watering can dripped cheerfully. Blobby started humming. Then singing. Then the crate went CRASH and Blobby was dancing again.

Mop appeared in the doorway. “The judges are here,” said Mop, very quietly. Blobby froze mid-spin. Three serious-looking judges stood behind Mop, each holding a clipboard larger than Mop's. They all stared at Blobby. Blobby stared back. Blobby's star sticker had somehow migrated to the top of Blobby's head.

“I can explain,” said Blobby. The first judge said nothing. The second judge said nothing. The third judge's foot tapped once. Then again. The third judge looked down at their own foot, deeply betrayed. “Hm,” said the first judge.

Blobby took a breath and sang — just one small phrase, barely louder than the dripping can. The tune floated out like warm toast smell on a cold morning. The second judge's clipboard slowly lowered. The third judge's foot was now tapping with serious commitment. “Oh dear,” whispered the first judge. And then — they smiled.

WHOOPS! The first judge was dancing. CRASH! The second judge knocked over the crate, laughing. Boing! The third judge bounced on their heels like a delighted spring. Mop looked at the clipboard. Then Mop put the clipboard down. Mop danced too. It was, frankly, surprising.

They gave Blobby the trophy. Not for silence — for starting the Best Noise of the Day. The sleeping snail on the trophy looked extremely unbothered. “You know,” said Blobby, spinning the trophy once, “I always knew I was contest material.” From the corner, the watering can dripped happily along.