when i was a little girl i desperately wanted to be a ballerina, the kind of ballerina in shiny pink pointe shoes and a fluffy tutu, being thrown around the stage by a strong armed siegfried. i even wanted the bleeding toes that come with the territory of going en pointe (my dad's blackened marathon running toenails held a strong fascination for years). the reality was that i had the matching leotard, tights, leg warmers, soft slippers, bun cover and even bag to transport my pink wannabe ensemble, however barre exercises were tedious and boring and had nothing to do with leaping around the hardwood floors and pirouetting until i threw up while an audience pelted me with white roses. i switched to tap dance, more cute shoes (this time white) with ribbons and lots of stamping and clapping, but i never acquired the much sought after top hat and tails. i finally took up jazz dance, until i dislocated my knee cap (and wound up in a full leg cast for my first month of university) following a bad jump-turn-landing.
the final result of fluff and feathers and fanfare is so enticing, however the sweat, sore muscles and hours of saying no to tv, parties, late nights and finishing "one last chapter" could never have been part of my discipline.
i went to a ballroom dancing class with my socially awkward iranian friend; there were the ballroom grannies and grandpas, teenagers and us. a buffet of cool whip based dishes provided much needed carbohydrates for those blood sugar lows so often experienced at these events, oddly enough no gatorade or gu's. overall, there appeared to be less dance theory and practice (except for the two ladies who wore swooshy dresses and the one guy dressed like a matador) and more social. i dont think i will be returning for another class, these are just wannabes; i am obviously serious about my "art".