The following is a brief brief surrounding my personal history with this art form they call "ballet."
At the age of five, my sister sprung for me to take ballet lessons with my niece, since we were, in fact, the same age. However, when it came time for the recital, my parents were too poor to purchase the costume, so despondently I watched from the shadow of the exit door as all of the other little girls donned their tutus and sparkles, twirled and pliéed. Experience numero uno.
Fast forward fourteen years to my college days...
Anxious to possibly pick up where I had left off at five-years-old (bwahahahahaha), I signed up (voluntarily) for a Ballet 101 class in order to complete one of the Physical Education credits required for my BUSINESS degree. And, certainly physical education comes in super handy when you are later running your résumé up and down the proverbial pavement, looking for a job. Needless to say, after positions "one" and "two," my second left foot reared its ugly head, and I dropped the class to take up bowling. Experience Numero Deux.
This time, the shoe was on the other foot. Not mine, my daughter's. In order to save time, space and the sanity of those reading, I'll just cut to the chase... we had a bad experience with a ballet center that had really poor business practices and customer service. There. That wasn't so bad, was it?
And, today... [[[drum roll, sil vous plait]]]... Experience No. IV... DA DA DA DAAAA!
After enrolling my daughter in a 4-day summer dance camp and after having received multiple e-mail confirmations from the dance center that our payment was received, she was off with a spring in her step to twirl and swirl, sparkle and squeal. And, then it happened...
...the deep, dark curse of the black swan...
(I just made that up)
(I just made that up)
On day number four, the swan's e-mail did say,
That the girls would be dancing and prancing that day.
But the googly spam detained it, in transit, the flyer,
And, one little girl's mother would ne'er make it there prior.
Tho the dancers and prancers would all twirl for the parents,
The curse of the black swan was soon quite apparent.
As the mom came collecting her daughter so sweet,
She was shocked as the audience had ris'n to its feet.
They were clapping and lauding and cheering with glee,
Yet, the mother had missed the entire ceremony.
And, so it's at this point that I raise my scathed hand out of the tempestuous rubble of ballet classes gone bad and offer up a tattered white flag in surrender. Tennis camp, here we come...