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So while, the rest of my belly dance class is excited at the prospect of the recital coming up at the end of the month. I am completely terrified. Already. And I have been ever since my instructor uttered the word "costumes" a few weeks ago.
I may be the only belly dancer who is in serious hate with belly dance costumes. I hate the sequins. And the beads. The matchiness. But most of all, the attention that these things taken together command.
Then there's the make-up. While I wear and celebrate the natural look, wearing make-up to conceal my under eye circles with a hint of mascara, heavy make-up is a whole other thing entirely. I've tried to do the black lined cat eye. I've even swiped on crimson lipstick that's probably made with lead in China before. But, it looks completely stupid and unnatural on me.
Pretty much everyday I put my hair up, just to get it out of the way. It's thin and straggly. Vacillating somewhere between wavy and curly depending on the humidity. I don't own a blow dryer. I haven't done anything besides let it dry naturally in years. Even when I get it cut semi-annually, I ask that she not dry or style it. I mean what's the point really? How would I even go about trying to style it now?
Oh, crap! I just remembered my feet. They'll be up on a pedestal. A stage, where people might glimpse the utter hideousness of my calloused unpedicured feet with naked yellowed toenails. Luckily, I think this will go unnoticed because, the sequins, deflated hair and under eye circles are likely to take center stage. Good thing.
But, the worst of it, by far is my severe social anxiety and stage fright. Which means I could know the choreography inside and out (I actually don't at this point in time) and my mind will go completely blank anyway. And I won't remember a step. This is my worst fear about performing in a group. That I will somehow end up in the first row, stage front, standing there facing the audience under the hot lights, mascara tears streaming down my face because I just pissed myself. And another dancer might slip on my piss puddle. Then everyone will go down like dominoes with their swords. Which of course results in some impaling. What can I say? I'm a catastrophizer.
As I'm talking to my husband and building my case with reasons for not dancing in the recital, he states the obvious.
H: Don't do it then.
M: I have to do it!
H: No you don't.
M: Yeah, so I prove to myself that I can do it. And survive. So I never have to do it ever again.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I only have a few weeks left to try to pull off Dancing Queen instead of Belly Flop. I will be channeling my energy. In the meantime, some of my vital systems may be shut down. Like logic.