A case of the mondays

"Rachel, your releve. It is not tight enough. RAY-CHUL. Do not move so slow as molasses. I speak, and your feet move accordingly to my words."

At nine fifteen on a Monday morning, getting a quick response from me is going to be difficult. It is even more difficult to elicit a response at said time when I am dressed in an ill-fitting leotard and pink tights, and you are calling me by the wrong name in broken English.

But my slightly bi-polar Ballet 101 teacher is not the type of person you correct. Though he stands tall at five foot four, weighs 85 pounds, and generally wears see-through leggings that leave nothing to the imagination, Vivian is the type of person that makes you feel apologetic when he calls you the wrong name. Which is why I sprung into action, tightening my releve as I made a mental note to respond to Rachel for the last month of class. I'll be damned if I am going to wake up at 8 a.m. two days a week without eventually getting this man to like me. Vivian, it is ON.