I awoke a bit early even though I still wanted to sleep on, enjoying the cool of the room as the fan hummed along. I had been up several times in the night, as usual, and I tried my best not to wake Dianna as I pulled back the sheet and slid out of the bed and onto the floor. She worries that I don't rest well.
My mind drifted to business and I immediately went online to see if a package I ordered would arrive today via UPS. Thankfully, it informed me that it would not. We are scheduled to go to my grand daughter's dance recital this afternoon and I didn't want the delivery person to have to make two trips.
What is it about dance recitals that I dread? I dearly love my little Kyleigh and would do anything within my power to please her, but I am certainly not looking forward to the hard chairs and the sqeaky, ill chosen music and the overly attentive parents desperate trying to show how talented thier child is. It wouldn't be so bad if they did say, a couple of dances altogether and everybody went home. But for some reason it seems as though the teachers somehow feature themselves as Spielbergs and Bruckheimers and draw out the performances as though it means better ratings with the 'network'. Does that sound a bit like Andy Rooney? My eyebrows are certianly not anywhere as garish.
Having said all that, I feel a little better; not that it will matter though when I'm sitting in that 'torture chamber chair' later on today.
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