This time Ch.’s mother came, too (at least I think the delicate blonde lady watching the class who beamed at Ch. constantly must be her mother, since Ch. is a delicate blonde girl). Sarkar also came to class later on, and her mother always comes and watches her, too, and we all know Sarkar’s mother quite well.
So I’m there looking at our audience of mothers and thinking — "Wow — I’m not only older than all the girls I dance with — I’m older than their mothers!" I’m, like, seriously older than the mothers, by a decade at least.
::snort:: and not even as limber as this old doll.
Strangely enough, at the end of the class, when I bailed out after three or four jumps (as I usually do — and, there you go, I rag on Marleesha and Andromeda for bailing on certain exercises, but I don’t stay till the bitter end of class if it’s all jumping), Snow White sidled around me, and in a mystifyingly wheedling voice asked me why I wasn’t staying for more jumps. It was mystifying because it seemed like she was trying to be encouraging — as though I were depressed about not being able to go on. "You’re so fit," was her final comment as she took her place in line to continue the grand allegro. I didn’t get it at the time — it only dawned on me later that she was trying to cheer me up or something — and I don’t know why!
It may be because when you get old, you always look either mad or depressed, regardless of how you actually feel. I may have looked grim and tired, but at the end of four jumps my actual mood is: "YAY! Time to go home!" I’m happay.
The Zen of Ballet 