This is my daughter Zoé:
She is a dancer.
This is Wayne.
He is very rarely serious.
Actually, anything remotely serious, ie. conversations, activities, parent/teacher meetings, make him even less capable of being serious.
This week, my daughter’s dance school has been hosting what is referred to as “Open House.”
This is just a fancy way of saying that parents can come into the classroom and “ewww” and “awww” within a few feet of their children, rather than being separated from them by a glass window.
So I am sitting inside the classroom watching the children go through their ballet steps.
It’s all terribly tedious, because really, it’s not even a recital.
This hour in the classroom is just for the parents to see and hear what exactly goes on behind the glass.
I, personally, don’t care.
I can see from the other side of the glass that my daughter isn’t getting beaten, ignored, or being used as a step-stool to reach the shelf on which the cd player is located.
I’m good with that.
Halfway through the class, Wayne arrives.
He comes clunking through the rows of chairs, his army boots (yes, despite 5 years out of the military he still wears the damn things all the time) thumping on the floor and banging against the metal chairs.
The teacher kindly asks him to please leave his boots at the door.
So he clunks and bangs his way back out of the room, removes his boots, and returns.
Finally he makes his way to a chair behind mine.
The other mothers aren’t really looking in his direction.
But really, why would they? Their eyes are riveted to their children.
So at one point, the teacher is telling the kids to practice this one particular step by holding themselves up on something.
She says, “You can practice this while your standing beside the table, your desk at school, even the kitchen counter.”
Cue to Wayne: “While eating a sandwich.”
Because it’s so stupid it’s funny.
But the other mothers are still staunchly looking forward.
The class continues on, fairly uneventfully.
Which surprises me because normally Wayne would have been poking his head between mine and the woman next to me to make ‘peanut gallery’ comments.
The ‘peanut gallery’ is surprisingly quiet.
I turn around to see something like this.
Obviously this is a picture taken in my house, but you get the idea.
So I give him a few pokes, and he wakes up, and mumbles, “I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking about something really important.”
He does manage to stay awake for the remainder of the class.
But he’s been behaving himself for far too long.
I can sense something brewing in the air (no, thank God he didn’t fart, if that’s what you’re expecting, but with Wayne it can never be ruled out…that or loud belches, they’re both fair game in public places).
He leans forward, pokes his head between the gaggle of mothers who are watching their future prima ballerinas with baited breath…
image from here
…and says, “I hope you’ve been watching carefully, because you guys are up next.”
Which, you just know, made this image explode into their minds:
…and scared the crap out of them…
Because really, how did they know he wasn’t right?
Finally, the dance class ends.
As people are exiting the room, Wayne can be heard saying, “I hope nobody stole my army boots.”
image came from here
We should be so lucky.