Damn women

April 3, 2008

So, I think I got kicked out of my bellydance troupe.  Or, I quit.  Who knows?  We’re women so we never say what we really want to say.

Basically, when I got too pregnant to keep dancing, I took a really long break from going to dance classes.  Oh, I tried, but I was soooo tired after my son was born that I just couldn’t really fathom leaving the house.  And, I was nursing so I wasn’t comfortable leaving him for long.  But I kept up, and I danced at home, and when things settled down I went back part time.  Then, my dance instructor had several huge things happen in her life.

We all kept coming to class, and paying, but we really weren’t dancing a whole lot.  Other people had things going on, mostly health related, so there were lots of times there weren’t a lot of people at class.  Class is supposed to last one hour, and then after that, an hour of troupe time to rehearse for events.  I decided early on that I only wanted to come for “class” time, because I really have a long commute and working, then class, then the drive home was all just too time intensive with that extra hour.  But class *never* started on time, and some days I never got to dance at all, or only for a few minutes.  The time was spent chatting, catching up on what was going on with everyone, talking about babies, our health, our lives–girly stuff.  Not horrible, but not dancing.  Now, listen up, ‘cuz here’s the part where being a man about it would have made all the difference.

I just kept coming and *paying*.  I bought troupe costumes that I never got to wear because I got cut from all the dances because I didn’t know them because I was “leaving early”.  I worked hours on my own time, only to find out I had practiced the wrong dances, or didn’t have all the moves correct because I was working from memory.  But I KEPT *PAYING*.  And getting more and more pissed.  But, because I felt bad for everyone because of all their issues, and I felt it was my fault because I couldn’t stay for two or more hours (after working 8 hours, waiting an hour and a half after work for class to start, and still having to drive home).  Plus, we’re all friends so, of course, you can’t talk about money to your friends!  Unless you man up. 

So I sort of stopped paying.  Or “forgot” to pay.  Or sort of danced around until I got a little discount rate for “leaving early”.  I never said, “I really want to pay, just I also want to get a full hour of instruction starting at 6:30 and ending at 7:30.”  Or, “I want to dance and perform again, so can we start on time and chat the second hour?”.   Some classes, I just sat on the floor while the other women danced because I didn’t know the choreography and god forbid I actually get taught it.  It’s not like I’m paying–oh wait.  Nope, I just sat there.

So, at practice for an upcoming performance I got cut.  And I walked out.  And still, the instructor doesn’t know why I’m angry.  Why I’ve been angry and sarcastic for months.  (See, passive aggression!)  And no one will ever know how many times I’ve come home and told my husband that I want to quit. Or how frustrated I’ve been for months and months.  But you don’t quit your friends, right?  And my instuctor, she needs the money desperately, so I have to pay, right?  Well, no actually, I don’t.   And it took a friend, who after being told of the situation rolled his eyes and said, “Damn women.” to open my eyes to the whole thing.

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