I started ballet today.
In my mind, this is how it was going to go:
Girl in pink leotard with matching pink tights throws a long, slouchy sweater over her outfit, slings her ballet shoes over her shoulder, and rides her bikes gracefully to a beautiful ballet studio where she points her toes and holds her hands just-so. Her perfect bun on the top of her head moveth not, and her face remains placid and serene.
So in actuality, I wore purple running shorts and a yellow t-shirt with a gigantic record that says “Jon Foreman” on it to my first ballet lesson. I got on the rusty-rusty bike and pedaled hard all the way there (getting past by other cyclists all the time). Since it was only 48 or so degrees out (but sunny), I got a lot of strange looks from my fellow cyclists… who were wearing down coats and hats.
It wasn’t a classy start, but who says you have to always look the part?
Next time, I’ll wear leggings.
Anyways, the lesson (despite being in German for the most part) was everything I dreamed it to be. My skills, grace, and flexibility are lacking and not very exciting, so we can just talk about how no one else is good at ballet in my class, either. Hooray for boating together.
We pointed our toes and our pointer fingers. We jetéd and pliéd and held onto the ballet bar. It was beautiful. And hard. And I have a feeling I’m going to be sore tomorrow. We also stretched… Ah. Splits. They do not happen naturally.
I treated myself to grocery shopping afterwards because it’s my guilty pleasure. Of course, I had to walk there through the cemetery, but oh well. What’s another 40 minutes of walking after 30 of biking and an hour and a half of ballet? Let’s just be active and then eat ALL the calories we can.
Then, when I got home, there was a package waiting for me at my friend’s apartment (sometimes my mail gets delivered there by a strange happenstance), and lo and behold, it was the birthday package from my parents, complete with LIQUID VANILLA (two bottles, which should last for a couple months), NORMAL CINNAMON, and GARLIC SALT (from Penzey’s).
Oh, be still, my heart.
I can hardly wait to wake up and make French toast with the vanilla and cinnamon. Oh, the joys of eating.