The hardest part about taking an adult ballet class is finding a leotard.
After two hours and five stores, my friend Brittany and I had lost all hope.
Why did every store clerk look at us like we had some weird fetish?
Stop treating us like pedophiles, and tell us where your pink tights are located!
Our last ditch effort was the local Wal-mart. We risked our lives going there after dark, and still no luck…
Desperately, Brittany held up a child’s X-large leotard. “I think we should just try it on,” she said.
“Have you seen the size of ONE of my butt cheeks?” I replied.
She put it back.
The next day we went to the fancy little dance boutique we had been avoiding. We were trying NOT to pay an astronomical amount for a class we weren’t even sure we would like, but…
The cheerful store owner accepted us. She encouraged us!
To her, our requests were perfectly normal. Of course we carry X-Large spandex – in every color!
Pink slippers? This way!
The last time I was fitted for ballet slippers, I was 3 years old and preparing to be a lead poodle.
Twenty-seven years and $90 later, what am I doing?
The first day of class went better than expected.
I didn’t puke like I did at my first jazzercise class, so that was a plus. (Jazzercise is no joke. Those old ladies kick-ball-changed my ass!)
And we learned many wonderful new skills like how to breathe up and down – instead of in and out.
Which translates to: how to not breathe at all.
Should I ever need to wear a mid-19th century corset, I’ll be ready.
Our instructor was 22 years old with the most amazing body I’d ever seen.
I’m sure she thought I was a lesbian because I couldn’t stop staring at her.
Even in infancy, I couldn’t lift my leg over my head the way she could. It was…amazing.
Her body was made of rubber. A galaxy of space between her thighs.
Our next class is a week away. Until then I’ll be practicing in the living room.
Hoisting my legs up on the barre – I mean chair railing.
Pliéing my way to galaxy thighs.