“If you dance, you’re a dancer.”

The Beast is off at the Man Games this weekend with his brother and friends. Well, since I’m jealous I don’t get to camp (no girls allowed), I decided to pamper myself at The Mission Inn Spa, the complete opposite of camping. I booked a microderm facial and 80 minute swedish massage. It was AMAZINNNNNG! I can’t believe I haven’t been doing this for years.

Anyways, the point of this post (besides to report I may have broken a toe, say whaaat?!) was to remember what my massage therapist said. She started doing some stretchy thing with my arms and I had told her how I dance a little and love to stretch. She said, Well yeah you ARE a dancer. I said, well more or less. That’s when she said If you dance, you’re a dancer. That made me feel so good. That feeling is gone now and the normal insecurities are back, but why do I feel so embarrassed to call myself a dancer? I’ll tell you why. I might dance twice a week and one of those is Zumba. Ugh. No. I can’t.

I told her that was a sweet way of putting it and gave her a bigger tip.

So story two is that after ballet class Wednesday, I did my last leap of class and since there was no time for reverance, I WALKED towards my bag and my longest toe tapped on the ground. OUCH! Then it felt all wongo (mexi-slang for weird). I continued on to Jazz but was just more cautious. After class my skinny “pointer” toe was swollen and the next day there was a little discoloring. I’ve been keeping it up and taking ibuprofen. I can move it a lot but I’m afraid I won’t be able to bend them like I used to. My feet are SO flexible…

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x-posted to So a girl walks into a barre…

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