[Scene: A sunny, slightly messy kitchen. A kettle whistles in the background. Cate Blanchett, barefoot in a crisp white shirt and pajama pants, is spinning around the kitchen island, a wooden spoon in hand like a microphone.]
Cate (belting off-key, dramatically):
š¶ āYou are the dancing queenā¦ young and sweetāOH DONāT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, BISCUIT!ā š¶
[She points at her dog, whoās staring at her with judgmental eyes. She throws in a twirl anyway, nearly slips on a dishtowel, then laughs at herself mid-spin.]
Cate:
This is what happens when I donāt have a script. Pure anarchy.
[She slides across the tiles in socks, grabs the tea mug with theatrical flair, and dips dramatically as if accepting an award.]
Cate (to no one in particular):
I’d like to thank the Academy… and also ABBA, for making folding laundry feel like a musical number.
[The music keeps playing. She moonwalks toward the toaster like sheās on a stage.]
Cate (muttering with a smirk):
And they think Iām intense in interviewsā¦ you should see me with caffeine and a playlist.
