When she delivers the ultimatum you’ll still be wearing your
ballet shoes. Practice will have ended
hours ago, but you wanted to do a few more pirouettes and some of those spinny
things we don’t know the name of. You
didn’t feel sharp enough, tight enough, comfortable enough with the movements
of your own body. You needed more
practice.
Her bags will be packed.
She’ll have her dresses trussed over one shoulder in a series of garment
bags. It’ll look like she just came in
with the dry cleaning.
She’ll stand there staring at the back of your head for a
full five minutes before you turn around and acknowledge her presence. You’ll delicately lower your body so that your
center of gravity is slightly lower than usual and tell her:
“My first love is dance.
I’m not sorry about that.”
She’ll laugh out loud when you say that, then crack open the
door and begin edging out. In the
process, she’ll totally scuff up the floor with her rolling suitcase, which
will launch you into a shitfit. You’ll
scream bloody murder at you for mussing up your studio space, threatening to
sue her for “property and psychological damage.” When she calmly tells you that your lawsuit would
impact your own assets, since you’re still married, you’ll call her a whore and
smash a vase, then grind your heel into it to make your point.
“THIS HURTS ME MORE THAN YOU LEAVING!” you’ll shout at
her. She’ll stare at you, baffled for
several minutes, then lower the cellphone she was using to take video of your
extended outburst before leaving the apartment.
You won’t see her again until the court date, three months later.
Congratulations on Proving You Love Dance More than Her!
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