Adult Ballet class is not easy, people. I hate it. I have a new love for ballet, an incredible respect for people who do it, but seriously. I hate Monday nights from 7-8:15.
The first time Gary held my hand was on our fourth date. (How gentlemanly!) Remind me to someday tell you the horrifying tale of our first kiss. Because let me tell you, it's a miracle he even called me again, let alone that we're still dating and share a postal code.
So anyway. On that magical fourth date evening, the first words out of his mouth upon clasping my hand were, "ooh, clammy hands."
This is relevant because last night, I was forced against my will to HOLD HANDS with another woman over the age of 20 and SKIP.
Did I mention that we are encouraged to wear tights and leotards?*
And the whole time, running through my head was:
Adult ballet is HARD, people. Not only because it requires grace, class, and elegance, but also because it makes you want to die on the inside.
*tease. I wear yoga pants. But I get glares from Miss Ballet Instructor, who is alarmingly scary and I might actually consider the leotard and tights combo to avoid any further scorn.
2 days ago