When I was a kid, the main dance teacher in the county was Miss Debbie. I always wished I could be slathered with Mary Kay makeup and in a sparkly tutu with the rest of the kids and take her classes. But because I was the youngest of three children growing up in a poor farming and coal mining community (insert sad fiddle playin' here), my parents didn't have the resources to send me to Miss Debbie. I could be typing this blog post from NYC right now on my break from rehearsal for Swan Lake, but because the plan was different, I am just a wanna-be post-30 ballerina doing DVD work-outs.
Okay! Okay! I had everything I ever needed/wanted and more as a child, and I probably enjoyed making up my own dance routines in the kitchen more than I would have enjoyed Miss Debbie's studio.
The DVDs are a bit weird to do in the living room, but it really is fun. And I am really thinking about purchasing some ballet shoes if I prove to be dedicated to my new found artistic movement. And I'm hoping it will help with my posture. It also gives new purpose to wearing my hair in a bun.
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