Monday, June 26, 2006

I Was A Ballet Academy Dropout


Tis true, tis true. My Mom signed me up for ballet lessons in the hopes that it would teach me grace, and enough coordination to scratch my butt and walk at the same time while chewing gum. So, there I am, 10 years old, second tallest kid in the school, in a beginner's ballet class, when in walks Holly, the tallest kid in our school. Apparently, her Mom had high hopes for her "Pretty Little Princess" too. Thankful to have a fellow outcast to lessen the pain of being surrounded by tiny, perfectly pink tu-tued dancers, Holly and I clung to each other, and goofed off in a corner every chance we got. Mostly mocking the other girls. We also started skipping out of class early to go and buy Snickers bars at the convenience store next door. It wasn't long before the instructor and owner of the school haughtily informed my Mom that I should probably be removed from lessons and that I might be better suited for learning to play the bassoon. I'm not positive but I think this may have been intended as a slam against me, because nothing says gawky oaf quite like a bassoon. Holly got kicked out too. No word if she took up the bassoon though.

Consequently, to this day, I'm so uncoordinated that I even hopelessly lose my balance and flail around in flat soled shoes. This dashed any hope I may have had to join the stable of dancers at The Lusty Lady Cabaret. So, you all have seen my magnificent, resplendent bronze shoes, right? That's what I wore yesterday to Church. I'm teaching my Primary class and I walk over to the door. Inexplicably, my ankle twisted and I nearly fell. Instinctively, I knew that the beady, scrutinizing eyes of 7 year old children were upon me and that I'd never live this down if I didn't handle it properly. As an authority figure, you must show no weakness, or the terrorists will win. Slowly, I turned to face them and their big jeering smiles and casually shrugged my shoulders while sticking out one hand and putting the other on my hip, and I told them, "Eh. I was just practicing for the I'm a Little Teapot Dance Competition, coming up next week". It worked. They laughed, and nothing more was said about it. Hey, I may be stout, but I'm certainly not short. Please don't tip me over. Thank You.

9 comments:

jams o donnell said...

LOL I think my sister would empathise with this post. instead of bassoon though she got to play the trombone!

elasticwaistbandlady said...

Personal responsibility is so over rated Jams. I'm going to eschew all that and blame the ballet mistress for giving up on me so soon. In today's age, she could be sued for lowering a child's "precious" self-esteem.

I like your sister Jams. Does she blog too?

White Man Retarded said...

lol, jams, lolmf:]:):?

Lianne said...

The bassoon, uh? Sounds like a slam on a perfectly good double reed instrument to me.

mullet said...

despite my bootyliciousness, I dance like an elephant!

jams o donnell said...

She doesn't blog, sadly.. you would find a larger,louder version of me on the net!

elasticwaistbandlady said...

mullet, when my oldest daughter and I lumber around, "dancing", we look like two fat performing bears in the circus. Except we don't have to jump through flaming hula hoops.

Patrick, NO! Save your acronym fighting strength for when the war breaks out and we really need you.

I ended up playing the clarinet. I hated it. To this day the thought of wetting a reed makes me actually nauseous.

You should encourage your sister to join the blogosphere jams. We soundlike kindred spirits.

Moi said...

EWL, Patricks just testing the acronym waters. Obviously. ROFLOL (that's for Patrick)

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