You’re Always Older, And Less Agile, Than You Think

Last weekend marked the beginning of the dreaded dance season. An action packed 2-3 months of glitter, feathers, tights, and more butt glue (I swear to God that’s real) than a girl could ever possibly need or presumably want. That butt glue is sticky as hell and sometimes you have to rip the costume back off again. But alas, this is how we prevent costume malfunctions, Janet. We kicked it off this year with a convention. This is when dancers take special classes, getting coached but new teachers with unique insight and skills. I wouldn’t know what really goes on beyond whatever my kid deems worthy of telling me. Even though this one had some, I’m sure, super comfy, carpet covered concrete risers to sit on, I just dropped her off and busted out once I knew she was in the right place.

I searched up some local coffee shops, planning to do a little writing while she danced and bent herself into pretzels and whatnot. (This was an acro class, so contortion was business as usual for these girls. I can’t actually touch my toes, so it’s all a little witch crafty to me.) I found something like 1 mile away and went along on my own adventure. It all started out so great. Excellent parking. I assumed the gods smiled upon me. They only laughed, like always. I ordered a latte, white mocha, and went to set up my computer. Only to see I hadn’t grabbed my charger. So unless I planned to power my computer with my own bioelectricy, which I suspected would be woefully inadequate, I wouldn’t be working. I had some books on my Kindle on my phone, so no actual harm done…yet.

I grabbed my coffee and I swear, this place has excellent ratings, so it must have been a cosmic joke. It was THE WORST coffee I have ever had the displeasure. Like I swear. It was so bad. I took another sip and tried my best not to make a face. I know I did. I’m panicked. The millennial in me will not allow me to let these people know I hate this. But I just sat down. I can’t park at a table and walk right out? I have to sit for a bit, right? Now I’m over thinking. But should I just pretend to drink it? Maybe it got better in the time I’ve been over-analyzing the whole coffee situation. Maybe if I take a full drink. Eww no. Still super gross.

So I sit at this table for a calculated 12 minutes pretending to drink the gross coffee. Now with a horrible taste in my mouth. I’m not even really reading. I’m just watching the minutes march by at a pace that would make the average turtle frustrated. Finally, I leave with my full coffee in hand. I’d decided that I couldn’t throw it out on the way out. It would sound full, hitting the bottom of the trash. Instead, I walked next door and threw it in their outside trash can.

I ended up calling my grandma to tell her about the whole worst-coffee-ever saga. She laughed at me. I don’t think she fully grasped the seriousness of the matter. We moved on quickly to discuss weather horror stories. One of her favorites, along with true crime based horror stories. If only I could get her into true crime podcasts, we’d really be on a role.

By now I had to actually pick up the daughter I’d abandoned for shitty coffee. She didn’t notice. She was dancing, remember? So I didn’t mention it before, but it’s relevant now. The studio the convention was at had, like, the worst parking. Is it a rule that studios have to have irritating parking situations? Because ours does too. Anyway, there were like 7 spaces for 10,000 cars. I’m only exaggerating a bit. So I was not parking in that lot. People saw parking spaces like they see Jesus in toast. There is no damn way that you should park along the sides like that and nary a large vehicle could pass. Instead, I parked in the lot next door. There were signs that said not to do that. I honestly did not know where they were expecting us to park. I did it anyway because I’m a maverick and the office building was closed because it was Sunday. They didn’t need those spaces.

The thing is, there was a barrier between the lots. Probably to discourage exactly what I was doing. Not like a huge barrier. Maybe a little lower than my hip. I had worn my sparkle heel boots because I needed a pick me up that day. Again, not relevant before, but sooooo relevant now. I hopped the barrier to grab G without a damn care in the world. Fuck you, almost 40 I am still young and hip and parking in spacing with signs and hopping barriers. It’s like I’m 19 and wild. Except for everything about my life and who I am, and I’m boring. Ignore all that. Barrier hopping is the new drunken party.

I wait for 400 years for her to finish up the last 5 minutes of class and the two of us walk back, accompanied by one of her good friends. Poor sweet child would witness my downfall. We go to hop the barrier back and this is where my hubris comes to kick my ass and laugh. The girls swing over with no problem and the carelessness that comes with youth and athleticism. I attempt to emulate this. But alas, my second boot gets caught. I know it’s happening before it does. I’m going down. I reach out for, idk, the air I guess and instead find my car. It doesn’t assist terribly much and I bounce off the front bumper onto the parking lot. G’s friend looks on and asks if I’m okay. I say oh, of course, and laugh. Because it’s freaking hilarious. I just comedy style landed flat on my ass on the pavement. Sparkly shoes shining in the sun. G laughs and asks if I’m alright between snorts of hilarity. She for sure felt obligated to ask because her friend did. She was totally laughing at me. Like full blown cackling at my sad visage. Of course, I say all good and we ride home.

See, it isn’t until the next day that I realize. I’m not alright. I’m all the way fucked up. Bruised ass, busted up shoulder, and now my neck doesn’t turn all the way without pain. Awesome. I used to make ramps and sled ride off of them as a kid. We’d wipe out into a pile of limbs and ice rocks and keep going. Now and I need advil and heating pads after a slow fall. I’m so sorry for what I said back there 40. I didn’t mean it. I’ll see you in a few years.