Well, I'm not good. I suck. Badly. I'll:
Never be as good as the proprietress, because I have the wrong build (Yeah- ouch, size twelve dress now, and ouch)
I wear the wrong shoes
I spin too much (I hated spinning, so I incorporated four spins into a cha-cha routine that NOBODY SEES, that we PRACTICE in PRIVATE- when nobody's around the studio- just to get over my FEAR and DISCOMFORT of spinning)
I have learned too much in too short a time
I don't own the studio
I wasn't twelfth in the nation
She's just better because she's done it more, and nobody can GET better than she is, because "it's not behooving to the studio to have students better than teachers"
Everyone else at the studio showboats. She doesn't. She's the owner. She doesn't have to.
So, this cute little sand castle we'd built just got smashed by a size 3.5 Supadance slim heel Latin with gold flecks.
I'm wondering when I ever woke up, went to pee, and while I was sitting there, thought fuzzily "You know? I think I"m going to go to that studio today, kick her out, take it over, and be the best with my two-hundred-pound pale knat that still can't do an underarm in a foxtrot promenade, much less isolate the basic in rumba."
No. I'm not good. I wasn't good last year, I'm obviously not any better this year. I didn't THINK I was good- I thought we were doing BETTER than we had been, but ... wel... what do I know. "I just pay to dance and that's really it,"
January. I'll have that damn albino oceanic mammal in January or not, either way, then I can rest.