When I went to see an unorganised Janeane Garofalo at the Melbourne Comedy Festival tonight – and sat in a crowded room full of people – I realised one of my greatest skills in life is folding my legs away to let people walk to/from their seat. It doesn’t matter if I’m sitting in the Melbourne Town Hall, a university lecture theatre or the tightly-rowed Docklands Stadium (or Etihad Stadium as my lawyer tells me to call it) I am a pleasure to pass on your way to the toilets.
The fact that my legs make up the same amount of my body that water does (a lot) means that to fold them away underneath my chair is no mean feat. Whilst people around me perform mean feats and don’t even strive to fold their legs away (can I use ‘strive’ as a metaphor if we’re talking about legs?) I want nothing more than the person-in-transit to pass me with absolute ease.
In fact, watching me fold away my legs would be like seeing a large piece of butcher’s paper being made into a beautiful, tiny origami swan. Which actually sounds much more impressive than bending your legs back. Maybe I should try to learn that skill and get a job in a fish ‘n’ chip shop. Just imagine the look on your Dad’s face when he comes into the shop on a Friday night and I serve him his seafood pack on the back of a paper crane.