"You're doing it again."

” ‘Hey Laura,’ ” I said, leaving the bathroom at my parents’ house and holding an imaginary conversation out loud for the benefit of my sister. ” ‘Use up the last of the vanilla-scented soap so we can open up one of the nine million others Mom’s students got her for Christmas.’ ‘Why certainly, family, happy to oblige.’ ”

Julie suppressed a snicker. “You’re doing it again.”

I immediately realized what she was talking about and scrunched up my face in displeasure.

You know how people from Italy are stereotyped as constantly talking with their hands? Well, because of where I come from (namely, a magical land filled with enchanted talking woodland creatures) I have a tendency to talk with my whole body.

For example, coworkers at the office have begun to realize (and point out) that an answer in the affirmative, from me, is accompanied by a jaunty little kickstep.

Knowledgeable acquaintances refer to this involuntary mannerism as ‘animating’–a reference to the quirk’s cartoonish roots–and I generally have NO IDEA THAT I’M DOING IT.

Naturally, it is a favorite pastime of my sister to call me out on it.

So when she pointed out that I had gone through the motions of dispensing soap, washing my hands, and taking a new container of soap out of the cabinet while I was talking, I slumped in despair, turned away from her,  and took a few dejected steps toward an empty armchair, arms swinging uselessly at my side. “I know,” I answered glumly.  “I was, wasn’t I…”

Julie snorted. “Laura,” she pointed out between gales of laughter, “now you’re animating sadness.”

Darn it, I was.

I threw my hands into the air in frustration. “You know I can’t help it!” I said, pacing angrily back and forth and punctuating each word with a lash of a hand. “It’s an involuntary compulsion–”

Julie was, at this point, doubled over with laughter. “You really can’t stop, can you?”  She said. “Laura,  just freeze! ”

Obediently, but still pouting, I stopped immediately in place.

Julie watched for a moment to make sure I had really stopped. “Good!” She said, like a kindergarten teacher complimenting a small child for not wetting their pants during snack time. “Now–say something.”

I was momentarily stymied. What do I say?

“I’ve…got…a lovely bunch of coconuts,” I began tentatively.

“Here they are a-standing in a row…”

Julie must have heard the waver in my voice on the second line.  She narrowed her eyes accusingly.  “You want to dance, don’t you?”

“…Yes.”