I think the (s)mothers are on to me. At The Rabbit's nursery school the other day I felt the evil eye gaze in my direction from no less than three (s)mothers. Have they discovered I am a mole?
The Rabbit has joined ballet classes. Please. How could I resist the opportunity to dress her in pink ballet slippers and a pink leotard? She prances about the house now, tip toeing around pretending she is doing an arabesque. It's too too much.
Many (s)mothers sat with me last week as we watched our creatures gallop across a dance floor, more linebakers than floating flowers, but so proud of their movements.
I turned to one (s)mother and said, "Doesn't this remind you of taking ballet when you were little?" She said, "Actually I wore black." To which her (s)mother compadre added, "Yes, isn't that more traditional?" Sneers all around.
Ballet class No. 2 is tomorrow. I'm thinking pink hair pins, pink nail polish, and pink coat for the walk over. And that's just for me.