This week was a quiet week, kind of the calm before the storm. The Fourth is coming up and people are deep into summer holiday-and-vacation mode. It also has taken me a lot of downtime to get over my bad summer cold/bronchitis, many hours staring at my bedroom ceiling in an antibiotic stupor imagining all the many ways I will mess up on the Big Night.  I will slip on the dance floor, ass over teacups, and crash into the Mayor’s table. Or I will freeze backstage in sheer terror right before my number and they will have to roll me out on a hand dolly. Or I will forget what the next step is…it goes on and on and on. 

The good news is that I am better now and Fotis the Terrible put me through a work out that proved it. I thought he was killing me but he described it as “light.” That Fotis is such a kidder. He threatens to get me back up to speed in a week or so, which would get me shaking in my Nikes if I weren’t starting to really appreciate all this, in spite of myself. Who gets to have a personal trainer? And a mad Greek one at that? And James Brann, the dashing dance teacher, promises I can do this. (Even as he mentions helpfully that my dance style reminds him of the Lone Ranger at full gallop on Silver.)

All in all, the word this week is practice (see above). I miss my dance buddies, and I hear they are all burning-up-the-dance-floor good. I would be threatened by this piece of news, but then I remember why we are doing this, and why I was crazy enough to agree to it. I also hear tickets are going fast so get yours now.

And sit at my table. I need all the help I can get…!