One day, a few of their friends came over for dinner. When I excused myself to go practice, they all followed me to the living room. My mom, radiating with the trademark proud Asian parent smile, gently commanded for me to show our guests my dance routine. I was horrified and tried to explain that I hadn't actually learned how to dance yet. But she wasn't hearing me. So we stood there in sheer silence with my parents glaring at me through their smiles and their friends trying to detonate the awkward situation with their own smiles. The smile-off was quickly going south. So, I sighed, plopped on the floor in spread eagle position, and reached for my toes. For the next five minutes, I stretched my heart out and contorted, reached, and bent like a centipede. Once my parents realized I wasn't warming up and that the stretching was the routine, they quietly backed away from the living room, their friends trailing behind them politely muttering "Oh she can touch her toes."
After three months, I stopped going to the classes because it was a shitty studio and the teachers didn't know what they were doing. We tried to find another dance studio but the search was futile. So I picked up piano and proceeded to "finger dance" for the next ten years. But to this day, I continue to be a huge fan of ballet and the art of dance in general. If you ever see me by a stop light on my nightly walks, I won't be standing still as I'll either be doing a pirouette or the Harlem shake.
pants: Parker (similar)
heels: Reed Krakoff
belt: Louis Vuitton
{live fabulously}