Presumably my father was being facetious when he suggested that I try on “every outfit” in my closet before heading down to Baltimore for my very first college reunion later this afternoon but just in case, I’m bringing four pairs of shoes and three possible ensembles for tomorrow night’s dinner.
What my dad doesn’t understand is that reunions are all about looking fabulous. And since I will never have a high school reunion (having been homeschooled…) this is my one chance to hold my head high and tell my former archenemies to go screw themselves.
It’s not that I didn’t like college— I loved it—but I had a real love/hate relationship with the dance department. My turn out was never good enough, my attempts at choreography were never “investigative” enough and it was with great relief that I realized I could skip up to three ballet classes a semester without jeopardizing my grades.
Frankly, I wasn’t exactly the poster child of the dance department.
(Until the chair realized I had a good relationship with the college president; then I was an asset in the department’s campaign to turn the former library into an extra rehearsal studio… but that’s another story.)
Can you blame me for packing four pairs of killer stilettos?
(Or wanting to stab my former classmates in the eye balls whenever I read about whatever crack pot “art” they’re currently producing?)
(Or sniggering to myself whenever I stumble upon a former bunhead’s Facebook photos and discover that the ballerina in question has gotten fat?)
I’ve lost weight since college.
And I have a job in my field.
And I get paid to write about dance.
And I’m still performing.
To top it all off, I have an awesome boyfriend.
And arguably the most interesting Masters degree of my entire graduating class.
I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning (mainly because The Wedding Date was in bed with me…) but I’d say the past five years have treated me pretty well.
In fact, I don’t even care what my classmates think of the new-and-improved-me and my high heels. Why? Well, lately my preschoolers have started running up to me demanding, “Miss Kat! Do you like my new shoes?”
“Do you like them?” I always ask in return.
“Well then that’s all that matters.”
- A Disaster in the Shower (fieldworkinstilettos.com)