I recently bought a new pair of jeans.
They were not the kind I would have normally chosen but they were 70% off, the right cut and size which never go on sale, so I ordered them. They have one rip and a bunch of paint splatters which I convinced myself was going to make me look hip and trendy and disguise the fact they are a few sizes bigger then I would like them too be. Naturally both my husband and my son made fun of me for paying for pants that look worn and old.
Julian’s first ballet performance is coming up and he has been practicing his role very hard every day. Now that he finally mastered all the steps I decided to fine tune his form a bit. There is one particular step that we worked on today that he simply wouldn’t do fluently. Appealing to his brain which is wired like a scientist not an artist I broke down ballet into physics and showed him all the moves that cause this step to propel forward gracefully. We also practiced how to keep the core strong and upper body still so he can generate enough energy to jump higher and turn easier. He repeated his pliés over and over again trying so hard to not move his upper body yet every time he reached lower he inevitably bend forward a bit.
Naturally I had to demonstrate how to do it right. I took a deep breath, strengthened my jelly of a belly and started my grand plié. Reaching near the ground I was so pleased I still had it, perfectly formed and all. And then my jeans ripped right across my bum, one end to the other, with a loud tear.
After Julian finally stopped laughing hysterically he said: well you did want this jeans to look worn and all, didn’t you?
I wish of all the things for Julian to inherit from me it would have been my ballet skills and not my sarcasm…