Guess what, folks. In a few short days, I’ll be heading down to my youngest daughter’s first dance competition of the year in good ole Nashville, Tenn. Because, you know, why not? Amid a global pandemic, the holiday rush and a presidential election season like no other, who wouldn’t want to spend a weekend trapped in a hotel/convention center with hundreds of bedazzled kids, their screaming parents, and enough false eyelashes to create a small army of black cats? The show must go on!
And in one sense, I’m actually relieved to be returning to a normal part of our pre-2020 lives. I’ve missed seeing her team on stage, the inevitable costume malfunctions and the joy and angst that envelop teenage girls who perform high-energy routines in low-cut leotards. I’ve also missed the social aspect of being judgy with the other moms. A little wine plus a little cattiness equals a whole lot of laughter and the occasional pants-peeing.
But given the general state of affairs and the timing of this event, I can’t say I’m thrilled. My tiny dancer has already had COVID-19, along with most of her friends, but I have not. Somehow, I’ve managed to survive almost four months of in-person teaching without contracting the plague. How crazy stupid will I feel if I end up sick simply because I borrowed a contaminated can of Aqua Net to cement a low bun? Ugh.
So, we’ll wear our masks and sit 6-feet apart and remember to sanitize as if it is the plague. And I’ll cheer for her and comfort her and remember that life, like the show, must go on.