Style bloggers talk about how great it is to layer. Sure, a cardigan over a cami can be awesome. Layers of emotion? Not so pretty.

Frustrated layered over crankypants is bad enough. Add a constant foundation layer of “I’m never going to be fit” and a dapper overcoat of PMS, and you’re the emotional equivalent of the kid brother in “A Christmas Story” who, unable to move his arms, ends up stuck in the snow, screaming and crying, “I can’t get up!”

Thusly encumbered, I decided to clean. The kitchen needed work; I needed instant results. I cranked up Pandora on my phone, jammed it in my back pocket, and scoured dishes and counters, happily singing along to 90s country tunes. As I scrubbed my embarrassingly nasty floor, the music went from merry to maudlin, pulling me down with it. Then, out of nowhere, mid-song and mid-emotion, Pandora’s channel changed. Gloria Estefan was belting out “Conga.”

A Pandorian guardian angel? A musical reminder from the universe to lighten up? Or just a fat ass that probably triggered the change when I bent over? Who cares? Sing it with me: “Come on, shake your body, baby, do the conga…”