Tiptoe through the tulips...

 It's finally happened! One of my dance studios is doing in-person classes again! Hooray!

Obviously at a limited capacity, with strict social distancing guidelines and loads of between-class cleaning, but at this point I'll take it. I'll even take the fact that they're not allowed to mix age groups yet, which means I have to take the Saturday class which is catered to the, ahem, more mature dancer. (Old. They're old. There, I said it. But they're also adorable.) Seeing as I've been off for several months, it's actually a better idea to do this class for a couple of months anyway to get myself back into some semblance of dancing trim.

All that aside, last Saturday I got to dance in a real studio with other real people and it was glorious. I got to see some dance pals I haven't seen in months. I got to chat with the lady who works in the studio office, who is a hoot, and I love her.

I got to wave and make faces at my pal P.V., who was there teaching small humans how to tap dance. I'll get to dance with her on Thursday, when the adult tap class meets. Another thing I'm excited about!

This coming Saturday is a holiday I don't much care for on the whole--Halloween--but they do encourage us to dress up for class all through the week, so my last-minute rainbow tutu and unicorn horn headband will get a couple of outings. I did tap class in my hedgehog onesie last year and nearly died of heat exhaustion, so I won't be making that mistake again. This year the hedgehog will be relegated to Friday at the office, where it ought to keep me quite cozy as our building managers never can get the HVAC right. I expect on the eve of the actual event I'll have the blinds drawn and the lights out, not that I've ever had a single trick-or-treater in the whole six Halloweens I've lived here. I mean, I could understand just a handful, or even one of the neighbor's littles, but nope. Not a one. Not ever.

Which is fine, really, because then I don't have to deal with having to much candy or not enough candy, or getting called to the door every 27.5 seconds.

Actually, I wonder what Halloween looks like in the Covid climate. It's much less likely that people will let their kiddos go door to door, and probably just as unlikely that there will be much activity at those shopping center trick-or-treat events. This really only occurred to me just now. Not having small humans myself, or knowing anyone geographically close who has them, the whole "fun" part of the holiday slipped my mind.

I remember Halloween as a child. I remember wanting the candy but resenting having to work for it. "Ugh, I have to talk to people?" There was a span of time where I was the only kid in my, well, I hesitate to really call it a neighborhood, it was more just a U-shaped set of streets, but anyway, it was just me. There weren't a ton of houses, and the walk between them was grueling on my little five-year-old legs, but I always made out like a bandit. A couple of the neighbors were elderly, and they loved to come to the door and coo over me, which was creepy at the time and is still creepy now, but I think humans are just wired like that.

It makes sense, really.

And I know I gave them plenty of reasons to coo. At age three, I was a cat. At age four, I was a frog. (Yes, a frog. My own request.) At five I believe I wore my mother's old tap dancing costume from when she was small, but somewhere along the line she lost the pillbox hat so I had a red sequin crown instead. At six I was Princess Aurora, but from the proper fairy tale, not the Disney version. In fact, I don't think I've ever even seen the Disney version. Anyway, we were doing fairy tales for our reading and language lessons at school, and I got assigned the Sleeping Beauty story, and my mom made me a princess dress and a spindle out of a chopstick, some cardboard, and some yarn she wasn't going to use, and there I was.

Those bangs, tho!

At seven, I was Captain Hook. At eight, I was Strega Nona from the Tomie de Paola book of the same name--we were doing national heritage in third grade and I picked my Italian side. After that it starts to get vague, and I'm getting bored trying to remember them anyway.

I do remember going as the "Responsible Adult" one year in high school. I dressed like a hooker. The irony was lost on just about everyone.

My genius has never been properly appreciated. Alas.