Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Bun Head Hardships
6:00. It’s time. Run. My fellow prima ballerina’s race down
the salt covered hallway, into the back nook of the dance studio where the race
begins. Who will make it into ballet class first, winning the spot at the front
of the barre?! I choose to start with the bun. My disheveled ponytail, tousled
by my previous jazz class, is quickly swept up into a tight, neat ponytail. I
quickly snatch my convenient handheld hairspray and harden the wispy baby hairs
into an invincible mold. I quickly twist the horse mane into a cinnabon shape,
tying another hairband around the snug knot. I scramble to find the four
extra-long bobby pins I need to accurately secure my professional grade
ballerina bun. I bite open my first pin, and stab it into my skull. I wince when
I feel the piercing pain, but I do not want to be sat out because my bun fell
apart. Not this girl. After I inserted the remaining three pins, I violently
shake my head, checking that my bun remains immovable. What’s next?! I panic,
looking around at my supplies that surround my feet. JAZZ SHOES? Fix it! I
hastily strip my jazz shoes off my feet and sit down to endure the process of
putting on my pointe shoes. I cram my foot into the hard shoe, forcing my toes
to face the solid block of wood that resides at the bottom of the shoe. Once my
heel enters, I quickly wrap the ribbons around my ankles. Over, under, over,
under, knot, tuck. I regained my focus and repeated the process on my other
foot. Only one thing left, the easiest task of them all. Leotard. I rapidly slip
the bright blue leotard onto my body, untangling the straps around my
shoulders. I am ready. I gallop to the studio, dodging the salty residue on the
floor due to the snow storm. I made it. I won. Front of the barre for me!
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Becky I wish I could say I have more experience in the dancing world, however I do have one story to relate. Over the summer I traveled to Spain where I participated in a Flamenco dance class, the instructor, a young, attractive, "chica espanola" led the lesson. Well, as you can imagine, upon her request of needing a dance partner for a demonstration, my fellow male classmates and I clamored about trying to make it up onto the stage first. Contrastingly to your situation however, I did not win the race due to my slow, clumsy feet which predictably led to my lack of aptitude in the dance world as well.
ReplyDeleteAs someone who has done ballet for close to 15 years now, I can completely empathize with the stress of getting ready for these classes. I can honestly say, though, that my buns consistently look like a blind old man hastily put them up, and I rarely ever tie the ribbons on my pointe shoes right the first time. Fortunately, my dance studio seems more laid-back than yours, so my incompetence in these two vital areas rarely hinders which spot I get at the barre (I prefer the back anyway).
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