While sweeping the floor recently, a clump of dust kept evading the broom. My reaction fell in an odd middle ground between anger and nonchalance. It was mild irritation masked with an improvised rhythm. To the tune of a made-up percussive beat, I sang to the dust under my breath, "Don't do that if I don't command it. Don't do that if I don't decree it."
This middle-of-the-road approach worked. The dust allowed itself to be swept up, thanks to my direct admonishment--and a made-up salsa rhythm to take the edge off.
