And I had Super Gay Latino Teacher again, who loves my hips.
Except in this class I could not do anything right. It was the Frustration Bachata, danced by Awkward Overgrown White Girl #4. And I begin to realize that I'm actually not. so great.
I talked to my teacher after class.
Mind you. This was his opportunity for him to tell me that I'm JUST WAY AHEAD of the rest of the class, and he was only correcting me because I'm on the THRESHOLD of dance perfection.
But instead, much to my horror, he suggested I take ballet.
Ballet. Ballet that makes you stiff, that discourages natural movement, that makes me think of a screaming petite Russian cougars who hiss at you. That makes me think of the line of girls in the mirror, queued up so you can clearly pick out the chunky graceless one. Ballet.
Ballet. That teaches grace, control, and beautiful lengthening posture. In short, all the things I want.
Me: I'm going to a ballet class in the morning.I'm going with my cousin Sarah, who has been going for years and loves it. She told me what to wear.
Brandon: Good job, honey.
Me: Are they going to yell at me in Russian and tell me I'm fat?
Brandon: Probably not.
Me: But can you be sure?
I tried on my ballet class getup and I already hate ballet even more.