In my thirty-six years on this planet, my eyes have seen many things. Beautiful things. Ugly things. Funny things. Sad things. Scary things. Things people would pay big money to see. Things people should never have to see.
But nothing I have witnessed in my journeys prepared me for what I faced on Saturday. The delicate balance between sickening and cute, between ecstasy and agony, and between the ridiculous and the sublime: the utter chaos that is a dance recital starring three-and four-year-old girls.
I have learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to Zoey's musical performances. But this was her first dance recital! Things would go differently, right?
Truth be told, I went in with the mindset that as long as she didn't hit anyone, kiss anyone, or cry, it would be well worth the $250 that, contrary to the bickering from my inner cheapskate, we spent for dance lessons this spring. And if she wiggled once or twice? Happy Early Father's Day, Chag!
As we were driving to the recital, I asked Ella, "Should we have gotten Zoey some flowers to hand to her after the performance?" "That's cheesy. I doubt anyone else will bring flowers," she replied.
As soon as we opened the door to the joint, we saw twenty pairs of parents, each carrying bouquets of carnations or roses. We suck.
Zoey took her place with the other dancers on stage, all giggling nervously over the clickety-clickety-clacking of their tap shoes. The girls all looked adorable despite the fact that they were dressed in glittery polyester Pageant Dresses From Hell that were offensive to four of my five senses (I did not actually lick or taste the dress, but if I had to guess I would say it tasted like petroleum).
Right before the show began, Zoey's preschool teacher came in and sat with us. She loves Zoey so much she asked if she could come to her recital. And guess what? She brought flowers for Zoey. Apparently, she loves Zoey more than we do.
The music started. While there were some girls dancing and acting like they actually knew what they were doing, there were also some girls just standing there, making their parents proud.
Zoey? She was doing some sort of perverse pelvic thrusting that was really driving me insa-ay-ay-ay-ay-ane. That's my girl.
But she was trying and was having a great time. That's all that's important. Not the fact that it looked like she was auditioning to be a Cheetah Club girl.
Next, it was time to do ballet. When Zoey came up to us to change into her ballet shoes, she asked me, "How did I do?" I hugged her, gave her a high five, and sang the New York Dolls lyric to her. She beamed.
She hurried back out to the stage. And that's when everything began to fall apart.
She wanted to be on the end of the line, as did another dancer. They started arguing. The instructor put the other girl at the end and Zoey right beside her. Zoey was visibly pissed.
Other Girls 1, Zoey 0
As they were dancing, the girls began bunching up at Zoey's end. Two of the girls managed to get in front of Zoey, blocking her out of the line. As soon as she noticed that she was behind all the other girls, she yelled out, "HEY!"
Other Girls 2, Zoey 0
Zoey inched her way between the two girls that were blocking her view of the audience. She then stretched her arms out to her sides, effectively pushing both girls behind her. She even knocked one of them on her ass in the process.
Final Score: Zoey 100, Other Girls 2
After the recital, the children and parents went into another room for cupcakes and juice boxes. Except me. I headed to the front desk to cancel her summer dance lessons.
GHS: I think you can figure this out yourself.
Related:
The Gratingest Show On Earth
Why Do I Even Bother Bringing The Camcorder To These Things?
And You're A Prima Ballerina On A Spring Afternoon
