However my daughter had a great time. From 7:40 a.m. until 5 p.m., she hip hopped, jazzed, krumped, locked, and popped herself silly. She is on dance overload right now. Like my son, she has passed out in her bed. She did not slap, bite, kick, or punch me. She simply mumbled something like "I'm hungry pizza to brush with iPod" and stumbled into the adjoining room.
It was a lovely weekend. I know I'm supposed to do a Classic Saint Marty today, but I'm too tired. I'm not going to apologize or feel guilty. Guilt is something I indulge in way too much. It's my constant companion. I should be working on a poem. I have a stack of quizzes to grade. I yelled at my son tonight when he refused to get undressed for his bath. My daughter danced all weekend without hip hop shoes because I couldn't afford to get her a pair that fit her. Tomorrow is my eighteenth wedding anniversary. I haven't even purchased a Hallmark card. Like I said, I'm a master at guilt.
No guilt tonight, though. Exhaustion, yes. Sore muscles, yes. A smidgen of anxiety about upcoming bills, yes.
Saint Marty has plenty of time for regrets tomorrow.
P. S. Saint Marty apologizes for any typos. Too tired for proofreading tonight.
|My daughter and her favorite dance instructor, Dena Rizzo|