As I left for class this morning, Mr Emphysema next door was having a bit of a hissy fit. He's still going on with his garden renovations, but I'm not so sure that this morning was a good one. All I could hear as I passed was "60ml from the pole. 60ml!!!" Apparently this was a really bad thing because he sounded mad. Maybe it's karma for starting at such a ridiculous hour and waking everyone up. Just saying.
Our ballet class this morning was probably the most fun I have ever had in ballet, and was a style far more suited to the way my body naturally moves. We learned some choreography to part of the dream ballet sequence from Oaklahoma, but instead of the pretty floaty parts, we learned the cowboy parts. This involved lots of knees and weird angles, and what our teacher called "improvised barn talk." This part wasn't quite so natural, so I just pretended to be my sister, and suddenly things became a lot easier.
After our first two lessons (ballet and fitness) I went to get changed out of my tights because those things are hot. A cleaning lady was waiting to go into the stalls, but she saw that I only needed to change, and said that I could quickly go first. Of course this stressed me out, because what if I made her wait too long? This thinking got its way, and I ended up getting hopelessly tangled trying to put my leotard back on, and then I couldn't figure out how to get it back in the right way. This was all accompanied by little banging noises as I fell over, and me muttering "ow!" and "what?" When I finally vacated the cubicle, I couldn't even look her in the eye. Sorry cleaning lady.
In latin today, I was lucky enough to be paired with our amazing teacher Aric Yegudkin. It's safe to say I was terrible, and will never again be used to demonstrate, but it was fun. What made this even better, was that in a drop catch that we did, he accidentally hit me in the face. Now this might not seem like a great thing, but it means that even he makes mistakes. It's not just me! Although I still haven't seen anyone else almost poke their own eye out.
For dinner tonight I made chicken burgers, and when cleaning up I went to put the tin of beetroot in the fridge. I was singing and daggily dancing at the same time, and so I wasn't paying as much attention as I probably should have been . I put a little too much pressure on the lid, and a fountain of sticky red juice shot up, and then came down on me, the bench and the floor. I quickly looked around, and cleaned it as soon as I could, almost as though I was worried someone had seen. At least my mum should be proud, as I'm getting so into my love for beetroot that I'm now showering in its juice. Maybe it's genetic.
Xx, Little Red Duck
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