What I'm saying is that I've been awake now for over two hours - long enough to try to convince myself to go back to sleep, and when it became abundantly apparent that wasn't happening, to have a bath, feed the dogs and have a cup of coffee.
What awoke me at that ungodly (seriously, I refuse to believe MY risen savior has anything to do with 3 a.m.) hour you may ask? I'll tell you, reader. I woke up in a sweat, frowning, with a heck of a backache from a dream about... you guessed it. Choreography.
I'm affectionately calling them 'dancemares.'
Wait, what? Not everyone has nightmares about dance steps? Just me? Alrighty.
Anyway, once I'm awake and thinking about what comes next (step step kick chase turn step ball change) and get stuck, then my mind drifts to other things. Like the fact that one or possibly more of my costumes for the show might be pornographic.
It's no fault of the costume, mind. No, the costume looks fine on everyone else. You see, I'm the chubby girl in the cast. It's not a fun place to be, but nevertheless, I'm currently filling that position. And the thing is, I'm not hugely fat or anything. I've actually lost about thirty pounds in the last six months, but that's not going to stop me looking like a cow next to all the lovely, thin girls next to me on stage. And, to top it off, they're going to have to order this costume for me in a plus size.
A plus size.
Boy, that does a lot for my ego, let me tell you.
There's not really anything I can do about it at this point, anyway. Even if I stopped food altogether, which incidentally, I'm unwilling to do, it wouldn't put me even close to looking like the other girls. And the thing is, I don't even want (or need) to look like the other girls. Not in real life. But on stage, in the chorus, I don't want to stick out as the fat cowgirl.
"Who was the fat girl? They shouldn't have cast the fat girl. Ugh! did you see the fat girl?"
Normally, I'm alright with my Christina Hendricks-like figure, but every now and then, I'd really like to blend. I'd like to NOT be a DD, and instead have thin thighs and fit into all of the vintage costumes at the theatre.
You can say that it's my fault. It is. My weight cannot be blamed on anyone but me. But when I've just bought several dresses that are a ten, one that's a twelve and even an eight for the last picture I posted on here, wearing plus size costumes makes me feel like a lump.
A lump with dancemares.
At least I've learned the music. Mostly. But hitting the right notes is not going to stop my rear end from being exposed to all of Amarillo this May. Stay tuned. It's gonna be a hell of a ride.