Tuesday, July 16, 2013

My Name Is Lisa, and I Have a Problem.

There are two items I need to check off of my Bucket List, one immediately: 

1) Last night, I had a precious 40 minutes of free time, and I chose to stop at a nearby shoe store, which shall remain almost anonymous, Famous for its Footwear clearance rack. 

I found a much needed pair of comfy, sleek, dressy loafers to replace the ones that I threw in the trash at the checkout counter in at least three pieces. I also found a pair of shiny, apple-red, perfect height, classic pumps. In my size. On clearance. Buy-one-get-one-half-off clearance. 

Upon arriving home, I realized I have no fewer than three pairs of shiny, apple-red, perfect height, various pumps. In my size. Purchased on clearance. 

Apparently, I have an addiction. Cue Mission Impossible: Navy. I consulted Kate, who responded with something highly encouraging like, "That is a perfect metaphor for what a confident, empowered woman you are." Which made me feel wonderful and really would be a desirable metaphor if I could actually walk in shiny, apple-red, perfect height, classic pumps without looking like I'm trying not to fall over. 

The second item is much, much, much more serious.


MUCH. 


2) I would not describe my upbringing as "conservative", rather "aware". We were often encouraged to view another perspective, and consider how our appearance, actions or words might be taken in untended ways. However, the community we lived in could be described as "conservative". As in, smoking, drinking and dancing were really excellent ways to cozy up to the devil himself. 

But. 

I've always wanted to dance. Even though I run in to the wall if I turn around too fast, and I fell down the stairs last year and ended up with a rod and six screws in my hand, and my oldest, as a toddler, cried every time I tried to have a little rhythm. I've always wanted to know how it feels to know enough to let the music move me. 

So. I bought five sessions of dance lessons. And not ballroom, tap or even contemporary dance lessons. Hip-Hop dance lessons. 

Perhaps they'll cover walking in red pumps in the first class.