I saw the picture above and it reminded me of a very funny story about one of my daughters. With her permission, I'm going to share it. I've promised to use an alias, though.
From the time she could walk, "Shortcake" was fascinated with ballet dancers and their beautiful costumes. We owned a video she watched over and over again...she had leotards, skirts and ballet shoes among her dress up things. We promised her that when she was three, we would sign her up for an actual ballet class. Oh my, she was excited, asking each day if today was the day she was three.
When the day to fulfill that promise arrived, we piled into the car and drove to the local recreation center to enroll her in Beginner Ballet. The line was kind of long but we patiently waited our turn. When it came, I lifted Shortcake to sit on the counter while I filled out the paperwork. I wrote the check and was handed my receipt to the background music of a 3-year-old's squeals of delight.
"Oh, one more thing," I said to the woman behind the counter. "What will my daughter need to wear to class? The usual ballet stuff, I'm guessing?"
The woman replied, "Well, in the three-year-old class, we only allow them to wear leotards, tights and ballet shoes. No tutus are allowed until they are four."
My daughter grabbed my face frantically and began to scream, "NO TUTUS?!?!?!? HOW DO I GO TO CLASS WITHOUT MY TUTU???"
(It's at this point in the story that I should explain that I neglected to label our body parts by their anatomical names and, uhhh...well, you can imagine what we named a 'tutu'.)
*singing in my head*... "Regrets...I've had a few..."
At that particular moment, I became intimately acquainted with deep regret.
The woman went on to explain, "Like I tell all the parents in the three-year-old class, if your daughter comes with a tutu, she will have to take it off and leave it outside the classroom door. So it would be best she understands not to bring one at all."
Shortcake now had a massive look of panic.
"HOW DO I TAKE IT OFF???!!!" she wailed, "HOW WILL I KNOW WHICH ONE IS MINE IF IT STAYS OUTSIDE THE DOOR WHILE I'M IN CLASS???!!"
It was time to go. Home. Fast. Now.
A year later, armed with proper anatomical names, we enrolled in a 4 year old class where "Shortcake" twirled to her heart's delight.
From the time she could walk, "Shortcake" was fascinated with ballet dancers and their beautiful costumes. We owned a video she watched over and over again...she had leotards, skirts and ballet shoes among her dress up things. We promised her that when she was three, we would sign her up for an actual ballet class. Oh my, she was excited, asking each day if today was the day she was three.
When the day to fulfill that promise arrived, we piled into the car and drove to the local recreation center to enroll her in Beginner Ballet. The line was kind of long but we patiently waited our turn. When it came, I lifted Shortcake to sit on the counter while I filled out the paperwork. I wrote the check and was handed my receipt to the background music of a 3-year-old's squeals of delight.
"Oh, one more thing," I said to the woman behind the counter. "What will my daughter need to wear to class? The usual ballet stuff, I'm guessing?"
The woman replied, "Well, in the three-year-old class, we only allow them to wear leotards, tights and ballet shoes. No tutus are allowed until they are four."
My daughter grabbed my face frantically and began to scream, "NO TUTUS?!?!?!? HOW DO I GO TO CLASS WITHOUT MY TUTU???"
(It's at this point in the story that I should explain that I neglected to label our body parts by their anatomical names and, uhhh...well, you can imagine what we named a 'tutu'.)
*singing in my head*... "Regrets...I've had a few..."
At that particular moment, I became intimately acquainted with deep regret.
The woman went on to explain, "Like I tell all the parents in the three-year-old class, if your daughter comes with a tutu, she will have to take it off and leave it outside the classroom door. So it would be best she understands not to bring one at all."
Shortcake now had a massive look of panic.
"HOW DO I TAKE IT OFF???!!!" she wailed, "HOW WILL I KNOW WHICH ONE IS MINE IF IT STAYS OUTSIDE THE DOOR WHILE I'M IN CLASS???!!"
It was time to go. Home. Fast. Now.
A year later, armed with proper anatomical names, we enrolled in a 4 year old class where "Shortcake" twirled to her heart's delight.
No comments:
Post a Comment