You know the typical story of the young chorine who gets her big break when the star breaks her leg? Or storms off the set because the lighting isn’t right? Or runs off with the guy who always wears a tux?
Well my weekend was just like that! Kind of.
The dancer who had to bow out is actually the young one, while I’m the old less young one. And she just had the flu.
I’ve given up dancing onstage. I've given it up at least twice a year for the past ten years. So I do need a break, but not the “Let me do the part!” kind. More the “Let me sleep til noon!” kind.
I’d actually co-created this particular duet, five years ago, when I was less less young. But I was the part the not-sick dancer was performing. I didn't really know the sick dancer's part.
As we know, the older more less young we become, the more less good our memory is. (“So it’s leap, land, swivel, and turn to the right or the left?” “The right.” “Got it. Leap, land, swivel and turn to the – did you just say right or left?”)
“Just have fun with it!” everyone said, which is the standard thing you say when you know somebody is about to make a fool of herself. (Also, “The audience won’t know the difference!”)
The dress still fit, although a little tighter less loose than before. And in the end, it went okay. I just had fun with it. The audience didn’t know the difference.
Then I RE-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-retired from dancing onstage. Until next time.
Meanwhile, don’t wake me before noon.
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