The perfect storm of karma hit me today when my wife’s work Xmas function coincided with the girl’s Xmas dance recital. As a parent who supports his family through various positive affirmations and encouragements I was honoured to be the caregiver chosen to represent us. I cheerfully packed my outing-with-children supply bag which was pretty much the laptop, a six-pack of Daniels cans and a scarf (in case I got cold). Long ago I learned to do this when the wife wasn’t around, so it was done immediately after she left for her drunken night of debauchery. I was set and as a bonus I could document the night AND catch up on new memes. I hope they had good internet.
Initial findings
They do not have good internet.
First 2 dances
I’m not an expert, but these six year old’s on stage are pretty bad or maybe it’s just some expressionist stuff I can’t understand or maybe the first few dances were bottom rung. My wife was all about the girl’s tutu this week, it had to be laid out perfectly on the bed to find form or some shit and we had to shut the door to the room because the cats love eating the tutu for some reason. Anyway, these girls must have had parents who don’t understand that the tutus need to be shaped as they were poking out in weird directions. One little girl had the thing flung up and she could barely see over it. Also, the guy beside me keeps sighing which is making it harder to type. He sighed even louder when I offer him a can of Jack and then whispered something to his wife (I assume she was being a bitch about the whole thing).
 |
| I'm not sure Google got this one right. |
Roughly half an hour in
The girl had her first dance number, ballet, and she wasn’t terrible. Don’t get me wrong, she was terrible, but compared to the others she was Sergei fuckin Borishnikov. I think I understand now, when you send your kid for five or six hours of lessons each week there is a separation of result
between them and the kids who turn up for a half hour lesson. I started smugly looking around at everyone else in the theatre, my little munchkin was marginally better than theirs. Then I remembered that these classes cost money. Now I’m just sad.
A little bit after the last entry
The guy besides me has hairy legs. I know, because he shifted in his seat and now his leg is touching my leg. Feels weird and he wasn’t moving it either. Was this a play? I’m bad at defining social cues but whether he is making a move on me or whether he has no fucking comprehension of personal boundaries, this wasn’t appropriate. If I was normal I would I have told him to stop, instead I am just scared.
39 minutes in
I fucking love tap dancing. Tappety tap tap, and then they do this shuffle thing and it goes faster tip-tappety and they were almost in unison this time as well. I’m glad someone else’s parents dealt with all that practice though. That would end me at home.
42 minutes in
The seniors jazz troop started with a voice-over saying the piece did have choreography but most of it will be free form by the dancers. I vocalised my displeasure by groaning which helpfully made the guy beside me shift his leg away for the first time in five minutes. Two thoughts on the dance; firstly they did pretty good. I expected shitty improv but got instead OK improv that was well coordinated with the music. Secondly, I couldn’t help noticing the sheer level of makeup each was wearing. If it was meant to make them all look alike, well, working as intended I suppose.
1 hour in
I’ve finished three cans and I think I need to begin rationing the rest. Who knows how long this thing will go for. Also, the bear beside me keeps shifting his leg away and then slowly it begins falling back against mine. Each time, I freeze and just sit there, wide-eyed and staring at the stage where, admittedly, something is happening but pretending this hairy contact thing wasn’t happening to me. Sexual harassment is obviously a useful tool for making people focus on something I suppose.
 |
| But can he rock this shirt? |
27 minutes later
Well the last three acts were terrible, not adorably terrible, that had been most of it so far, but more a “they are enjoying themselves so fuck it” level of terrible. Of course I added this sentence for a little drama. I really hadn’t been paying attention to the dancing as I was trying to get circulation back into my legs. The boy had told me a while ago that birds were pecking his feet which my wife translated
as the pins-and-needles feeling. He was right, it did feel like birds pecking my feet. Poetic little muppet.
Intermission
Everyone mingled around outside. I noticed there was a lot of hugging, people using real names with confidence, like they weren’t just guessing, and probably because of all the harassment that had been going on I really didn’t want to get involved in that. So, I found something important on my phone and went off by myself. Admission: I was just staring at the home screen and moving the windows around without making eye-contact with anyone.
The next bit
I don’t think it unfair of me to admit that I was running out of patience with this whole thing. More to do with the fact I was finishing my last can of Jack. In good news though the air-conditioning was getting cold so I put on my scarf – always be prepared. My bitterness was probably more to do with the fact the theatre had haemorrhaged half the people during intermission as the husbands who had seen their kid dance were released back into the wild. The guy beside me had gone as well and I was miffed, after what I had gone through a goodbye was probably in order.
Two hours in? Something close
 |
| Honesty first, Tree-cat. |
Time really has lost meaning. The girls second dance, a razzle dazzle jazz affair, came and went. Being a parent makes my independence questionable, but I can confirm without bias that they
weren’t terrible. There was a huge talent/practice gap between some of the dancers and like everything in life it sadly turned out to be money. Money was that difference. However, looking down at her happy, smiling little cherubic face I could honestly say I would give that all up in an instant for the dance tuition fees back.
17 Hours In
I had my phone balancing on my lap and then suddenly it was on the floor, somehow I had lost minutes, maybe (hopefully) even hours. I initially thought it was a glitch in the matrix and began looking around for escape points but then I yawned and figured it was more likely I had briefly fallen asleep. Also, there were tappers back on the stage, which was probably why I woke up, so I am focussing again. Tip tappety, *jazz hands*, tap tap. Fucking marvellous.
Four billion years in
The girls last dance just finished, which means second last dance of the night according to an uncanny voiceover in my mind that sounds suspiciously like my wife. Either I am hallucinating or she has learned ESP. As I am sure that we are mere seconds from the heat death of the earth, because we had been sitting here for 4 billion years, both options are plausible. In any case I got to see a horde of little midgets capering around on the stage, hip-hopping with attitude. Again, more or less the timing was spot on, everything about the routine suggested ‘practice’ and each one of them was trying their ass off. Trying and achieving. Who the hell had taught her to try?
Within purgatory
You remember when your Mum had a conversation with another Mum and you were totally bored but it sounded like it was winding up? Then they started up a new conversation and it just wrecked you? Well that’s how I felt when they began presenting awards once the whole dancing thing finished. Inwardly I groaned and in my mind I heard my Mum say the same thing she always did, “be patient”. Then I remembered my parents had come as well and I must have groaned out loud and she had given that response from a couple of rows down. Also, when I got bored earlier and begun throwing bits of paper at the bald spot on the head of the guy in front of me it all made sense his retort of ‘grow up, you are 40 years old’. Thanks Dad, but you are going bald.
As of now, it is an hour or so after the event, and the wife just messaged me from her Xmas party, she is ready to be picked up. So now I need to drive her home, which normally resolves into a wrestling match in the car as I try and stay on the road and fend off her drunken physical attacks on my man-parts. I’ve been molested enough for one night, woman.
 |
| No, Woman, I wont relax. |
0 comments:
Post a Comment