I miss frocking up.

In a discussion about class times for next year, I pointed out that finishing class at 8.45 on a Friday night really wasn't all that grand for me. I work 9-5 on Saturday, so do the math on that and let me know how my social life is going to fare. My mother pointed out (not unreasonably) that she'd done it for plenty of years.

Hm.

Yes.

Hang on. Me too, because when YOU started teaching Friday nights my class was the last class on Friday night... so I would sit at the desk and deal with the griping and the moaning and the rude parents and the snotty teenagers and do my classes... and go home and go to work for a 9.00-5.00 day at ballet dealing with the griping and the moaning and the rude parents and the snotty teenagers and do my classes...
I actually think I have it easier being the teacher than the desk slave.

BUT, my point is that I have been doing this for years too. Yeah. Take that. And I don't think it's going to suck any less this time around.  Today is one of those days where I think I could quite enjoy living in a cave. With wireless, and meals delivered on a tray. I've devolved to my ground-base state of jeans and top, although I'm incongruously typing this wearing black pointe shoes. Well, they needed some kind of breaking in, and I figured that we have floorboards for a reason. Plus, it's funny watching the pug go into high alert every time the box knocks against the floor.
OOH! Post!
If there's one thing I like more than toast (although maybe not as much as caramel popcorn) it's getting stuff in the mail. This is why online retailers are simultaneously my greatest joy and very, very dangerous.

[one letterbox expedition later...]

Wow. Now my new across-the-road neighbors think I'm certifiable too. Let me set the scene:

It's a beautiful sunny day. A council truck idles on the side of the road. The yellow rose bush beside the house is in full, glorious bloom. A girl comes out of the house with a pug under her arm. She is wearing a grey top, jeans, and carelessly-painted-black pointe shoes. She tiptoes across the driveway and then walks on pointe up the sidewalk to the letterbox. 


At this point she realises that the discussion between a couple of burly council workers and her neighbor has ceased. She looks around curiously. They're looking at her in a very puzzled way. She waves and nearly drops the pug, recovers, stomps up to the letterbox and finds it empty. She's tempted for a moment to put the pug inside the letterbox, just to really give them something to look at, but that's probably not a nice thing to do. Besides, the pug's a little too rotund.  Frick. 


Oh, and that's before I get started on the next-door neighbor, who has a WEIRD obsession with his nature strip. What are your neighbors like?

Thank you, my lovely commenters...

For you have all cheered me up no end.

Especially the indivisible & indistinguishable one, who has made me shed a few late night tears by leaving SEVENTY PERCENT COCOA FAIRTRADE ORGANIC HEAVEN on my doorstep.
And a card. A LOVELY card, which made me smile even before I opened it because that design has history, man!

The card will last much, much longer than the chocolate, but she really is the bomb. I get to steal her little boy every Thursday and channel some type of Mommy vibe. GIRLFRIENDS who give you chocolate, people. (And their firstborn on a weekly basis!) There's the REAL sisterhood. A guy who give you chocolate? Yeah. That's nice and all. Considerate, even. But when your girlfriend looks you in the eye and says "This is for YOU" that's real love.

Actually, this is me being flippant about something a lot more important than chocolate (which keeps taking me six goes to type), but I can't go getting all mushy and teary now, for I am a BIKER CHICK!
Granted, it was more an "on the back of the bike holding onto the BIKER" chick experience, but oh baby, how I want a motorbike. I'd probably be awful at soloing it, can't really imagine hurtling down to the peninsula with fire-engine-red fiberglass case containing violin on back... hang on... I kind  of can.
Probably not so great with a baby seat though. Or a trailer, which  would need for towing about all my teaching violin/ballet stuff. It was a nice dream though.

And herein ends my post for today. It's been a lovely day. Visited the Toy Library, enjoyed lunch with suzukisinger (yes, she of indivisble fame!), taught kids, they all set nice goals, went to dancing and got my tango on, had my little BIKER CHICK excursion, danced with my lovely hubs (and some other people. Dearly beloved, some of them. Hang on, I only danced with the dearly beloved ones tonight. That's extra nice.) Had a few 'breathing dancing' moments.

Um, this is a little odd. it's about 1am and the pug is sitting on the decking outside grinding away at a bone. And I do mean grinding. It reminds me of that scary story about the couple in the car who hear on the radio that there's a serial killer on the loose.

Then their car breaks down and the guy says he'll walk to get help (GENIUS!!!) and while he's gone the chick hears this scratching sound on the roof alternating with a weird thumping... and then police turn up and it eventuates that the killer grabbed her boyf, decapitated him, and has been alternately scratching his way through the roof of the car and thumping the guys head against the duco... (as one does when one has nothing better to do on a Saturday night, being freshly jailbroken and all) AND he was only a millimetre from busting through the roof!!!

I'm sure there are far better versions of this story, but my point is this: Lucy (pug)  is reminding me of the serial killer. I need to let her in before we seriously freak out the neighbors. Or I have really bad dreams. Hang on, I have chocolate! No bad dreams for me, just sugary goodness!