Oh, that is disgusting. As I put my costume away in the closet, my eyes drift to the metalic hot pink and white polka dot latex leotard/skirt with the matching belt and shimmies (actual picture up above although, it's missing some pieces). . . AKA Recital costume for 2006. . . AKA the one I never wore because I was sick. And this STUPID costume is haunting me in the closet. As I run my finger over every sparkly rhinestone, it says in a taunting voice "Your such a wimp! I cannot believe you didn't wear me because of a simple sickness! Pathetic!!!". It is literally shouting at me. And this dance was glow-in-the-freaking-dark. The way the stage manager sets that up is brilliant. And how ironic: my sister danced a glow-in-the-dark segment in one of her performances this past review. That should have been my Glow, sis! That's my dark! Awwwell. Still, this darn costume is more annoying than Fred on YouTube.
I felt so so awful sitting in my sick bed the night of recitals. Mother had been on a rush of driving here and there and asked me (with absolutely no compassion at all)
"Are you sure you can do this [perform. She meant perform]?" I was hesitant at first, terrified she would get mad at me. So I merely brimmed my eyes with tears and pouted, looking at her. I expected a little too much. I expected her to sweet-talk me and say it was okay and make me lie down and put a thermometer in my mouth. But instead, all I got was an unsympathetic,
"I know." followed by the coldest hug you could ever imagine. It made me even sicker especially considering the fact that Mrs. Gentry would have to fill my spot onstage. I'm always in the front! That whole year we practiced where we'd be on stage, our smiles, even our mess-ups. And now, I wouldn't even have the chance to put on nylons, makeup, hairspray, the works! My taps were really mad at me too. They had worked so hard all year, getting everything right. And there I sat on recital night eating Goldfish crackers, taps away in their bag. It just was completely awful timing for a cold. Don't get me wrong! I'm not dissing my mother. Ha, the thought. But sadly, those little hurtful things stuck in my mind. My mind. . . and every single polka dot in that costume.
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