Remember months ago when I was giddy-gleeful over my shiny, tappy tap shoes? And how excellent it was that I was taking a tap class? Well shine me up, my people, because I done did it! From September to June I tapped and tapped and TAPPED, all working towards the goal of last Saturday. Saturday night I pulled on the least flattering, spandex-and-silver-glitter costume ever made, along with my now-broken-in, soft-and-comfy tap shoes, and I ROCKED the KASBAH, peoples!
(an aside to the people who pick out the costumes: Please note the figures of your students in the future and avoid things that accentuate, nay HIGHLIGHT, tummies that could honestly be compared to semi-deflated soccer balls? Also, no silver glitter. In fact, let's just say no glitter period. No matter how snazzy it might look in the catalog, the costume owner lives in fear of freeing it from the sealed ziplock bag for fear that they will never get all the shedded glitter out of their house. Or car. Or driveway. Or anything ever good god it is EVERYWHERE.)
I wish I could say that the packed theater of about 300 or so audience members was there just to see me prance around for a solid 3 minutes, 21 seconds. Except that would be absurd and also that much pressure would lead to excessive wetting of my spandexy pants. See, here’s the deal: the dance school through which I mastered the art of the tap, the punch, the paddle, the shim-sham, well they teach a pile of classes! Tap, but also jazz and ballet and hip-hop and hip-hop and HIP-HOP-HIP-HOP-HIP-HOPHOPHOP! (no kidding, there were a whole lot of hip hop classes) And at the end of the 9 months of classes we all shake our trained booties in a big, fancy show on stage at the local performing arts center!
Not the local high school. Not the tiny repertory theater. This place has hosted rock bands and traveling broadway shows and Garrison-frigging-Keillor! The BIG TIME! And where Garrison stood and spoke folksy-but-eloquent wisdo-humor I scuffed and chugged and shuffle-box-stepped. Here are some things that I learned from this experience:
- No matter when I last went #1, within 5 minutes of stepping on stage I will still have to pee.
- Making a mistake? Acceptable. Saying “Oh crap, I screwed up!” on stage? Not so much.
- If you’re 4 years old and wearing a dress that looks like it could also be a blue-and-yellow wedding cake you don’t need to take a single dance step; you’ll still bring down the house.
- As uncomfortable as “suck-everything-in” underwear are normally, they are an unholy experience once they’ve been wedged into normally sealed areas via dancy-dance movements.
- The ones who have all the fun are always more entertaining than the ones who think they’re hot shit. Even if they are actually hot shit.
- I don’t care HOW old I am! I performed, and now someone better take me to get ICE CREAM!