La Meridionale Ballerina

This is just my official way of claiming that I Knew.

We have been talking about The Question for quite some time now (let’s be honest, since we first started dating.  Sometimes you just know).  But lately there has been serious talk of The Question.  I mean serious talk.  The most serious being the decision of when (2008 because, well, we like even numbers).  And the taking of the Preparation for a Christian Marriage class together.  And the renewed commitment discussion we had on New Years (including something I’m very excited about but won’t tell you.  Ha!).

Well, Matthew’s parents came down for a visit this weekend.  We went out to eat at P.F. Chang’s on Friday night (though it seemed more like Sunday morning before we were seated).  Saturday morning his dad met us for breakfast along with the basketball team before their Saturday game (at, where else, Cracker Barrel).  We had a good time, chit chatted with parents, the team trainer, and the girl’s coach.  Matthew and I had further discussions about The Question in the car afterward.

It is well-known that Matthew’s parents and I get along swimmingly and that they like me very much.  So I’m always included in discussions and talks, up until goodbyes are said.  They decided to go home after the game (Mrs. Holmes isn’t feeling well), so after the game I assumed I would chat with them and walk them to their car.  Instead, Matthew asked if he could meet me back at home so he could talk with his parents.  And I think I know what he wanted to talk about.

I asked him about it later, in my coy feminine way, and, of course, ran him into a corner so he had to plead the Fifth.  I think we all know what that means.

And I know this: I don’t care when (assuming it’s before say, 2030 so we can still have kids).  And I don’t care how.  And that’s how I know it’s going to happen.

*Insert drumroll please*

I am about two hours away from leaving to go back to Maryland for our company’s "All-Hands Meeting."  Frankly, I am unnaturally nervous.  Perhaps because I’ve never traveled for business before.  Perhaps because I don’t know what on earth is going on.  Perhaps because I relented and bought myself $200 worth of new clothes for the occasion. 

(Hey, all my old clothes are either threadbare because I’ve had them since 1998 or don’t fit anymore.  You think I’m kidding.  I’m just now getting around to throwing out a white cardigan that I’ve had since ninth grade.  I noticed it no longer has functioning seams at the neck.)

(In case you’re curious, that would be new black dress pants since the others are each at least three years old and have been washed so many times it is impossible to press them.  Oh, and new black pumps - really nice ones - since I don’t have any.)

(Matthew thinks I need a shoe intervention.  This would only be successful if they stopped making shoes.)

I’ll let you know how it goes.  If I still have a job.

Ah.  That, my friends, is a sigh of relief.  Ballet classes have started up again.

I am starting the new semester with brand new, custom-fitted shoes (which are somehow missing in the black hole that is the apartment…but they’ll be found soon), a black leotard, fancy pink professional tights, and a fancy professional skirt.  I feel like a true dancer.

That is, until I actually dance.  I got rusty even though I practiced over Christmas.

But it’s a beautiful thing, being in class again, running around every weekday.  I’m out of the house, I’m doing things, I’m socializing, and I’m loving it. 

Especially Monday nights with the S.E.A.L.  She was in true form this past Monday - trust me, I can feel it in my calves, which are too painful to touch at the moment.  My Wednesday class is with Chrissy, who I like to think of as my body double in another life where I had never consumed chocolate, meat, bread, ice cream, cake, tortilla chips, or cheese.  Yes, she’s the one who has the exact same bone structure and height as me, but must weigh some number I haven’t seen on the scale since the fourth grade.  I feel like a linebacker when I stand in fifth position next to her.  And Thursday I have Lisa, who is the most soft-spoken person I’ve ever heard - you can barely hear her call out combinations, and that’s before the music starts playing.   

She was in The Nutcracker.  Sigh. 

(Which I think Matthew secretly loved, by the way.)

And on top of all this frappéing glory, I chit chatted with a girl in class who I have a lot in common with.  She’s 22, just graduated in December, majored in political science and communications, plans to go to law school in a year and a half, took the LSATs, and did her internship at the CIA and NSA.  She even knew about the metro!

Except this.  I asked her why she was taking ballet, and she said she had to work out some aggression because her husband is divorcing her.  He served her the papers on her birthday. 

As completely foreign a concept as that is to me (she’s a year younger than me!), I understand.  I go to class for the same reason most days.  I love the feeling of being completing engaged - unable to think or worry about anything else besides what comes next, if I’m pressing into the floor, if I’m centered.  You are so aware of what your body is doing it brings your mind to a better place.  It’s beautiful, freeing…almost spiritual.  Ballet makes everything better.

And besides, she could probably use a friend now.  I know I could, too.

All I have to add is that work has been insane.

I wish I could rant more about all the crap I have on my plate at the moment, but I just don’t have the time.  And on top of that, we’re going to have some crazy meeting with all the people in the company and everyone is praying it’s not because we’re all getting fired.

In fact, the only reason I have time to write this post at all is because I can’t connect to our LAN at the moment and therefore can’t do half the work I need to do.  Yes, I’ve called people.  No, it’s not my computer.  No, they haven’t called me back yet.  Yes, I’m going to have to work this weekend to make up for it.  Yes, I’ve been crying all morning.

My 50-some year old cousin told me on Christmas I was lazy for working at home and depriving people that weren’t too lazy to go to work of employment. 

Doesn’t that create a warm, fuzzy, holiday feeling for everyone? 

I miss the Navy S.E.A.L.  At least she makes you do more pliés if she thinks you suck.