Today is cursed. I’ve decided to spend the rest of the day in front of the television where I can only do myself harm.
It started very early this morning when I was awoken by my neighbors howling dog. As my heater clicked on, I felt sorry for the poor beast (I leave my thermostat at 66 – if it’s turning on, it’s cold out). I was afraid to look at the clock, but it was still dark out.
I got up around nine-thirty. The cats had entrapped me so thoroughly under the comforter that it took some maneuvering to get out, but at last I was upright. And then the world turned. And righted itself. Nauseous, I wandered into the kitchen to feed the cats and make coffee.
In the shower the world continue to rotate, but by the time I was getting dressed it had stopped.
I had to leave for our performance at 11:30, and everything was on time. Driving was made frighteningly interesting by the rug that kept getting caught under my clutch and gas pedals. But, I arrived without incident.
I had given my dancers a 12 noon call for a festival that started at one. By 12:15, all but one had showed up. By 12:30, trying not to panic, I asked my announcer to step in (which he readily agreed to do).
It was a lovely, cold, windy day. There was no place to walk through our dances except outside. Our basic outfits for the females are cotton circle skirts, white peasant blouses, laced vests and sashes. The gentlemen, of course, wear kilts. None of these are particularly amenable in windy days. As I grabbed my skirt with a free hand, I was thankful I had chosen dark underwear.
We were participating in a St. Andrew’s Festival at an Episcopalian church. The choreography for the event was to have us all assemble outside and have a piper pipe us in. Somehow, we ended up in the very front of the line. As we marched in, I realized a) we had walked in BEFORE the rector (probably not the proper thing) and b) we were in the front two pews with no programs. I know from the experiences of attending my father’s church that Episcopalian services are fairly read and response. Except, we didn’t have anything to tell us where to play. I folded my hands together and smiled through the mercifully short service.
And now onto the dancing. My missing dancer did finally show up. Because I had been planning on a sub for her, I had switched genders (so that my partner, now a man, could dance on the correct side of the set). With her return, I swapped back to my original position. This caused me to have a massive gender identity crisis. Which made itself readily apparent in the first dance when I not only tried to run over another couple because I had dropped 8 bars out of the dance, but also caused confusion in another dancer with an incorrectly danced transition. There’s a saying amongst Scottish Country dancers: having a teacher in the set is a curse. We had two, so we were doubly cursed.
The remaining three dances went without incident. They were not danced as well as we’ve done before, but there were only minor hiccups.
On my way home, I stopped at the store to pick a few things up. I had made it through the entire day without revealing precisely what color of underwear I put on this morning. As I was loading the bags into my car, a huge gust of wind swept through the parking lot, lifting my skirt and thoroughly flashing the driver of the car waiting for my spot. *sigh* It wasn’t the first time (I have pictures of me in performances with my skirt almost over my head), and it certainly won’t be the last.
By the time I got home, I massively had to pee. I unloaded the groceries and ran into the bathroom. I wasn’t as careful about my skirt and in my haste didn’t get it up around my waist. Yup. I peed on my skirt.
At that point, I decided that my life would be much safer if I spent it on the couch.
