Today's topic inspired this from me today:
When my nieces used to play dress-up in my ballet costumes, my five less-than-stellar years of ballet lessons would come flooding back.
Oddly, it's not Francine's yardstick that she would "thwack" our bottoms and tummies with that I would remember, but it was the days my Dad would take me to lessons on the back of his motorcycle.
When my Dad would get home from work in time and the weather was dry and a little sunny, he would load my tights-wearing, leotard-clad self onto the back of his motorcycle, plunk the over-large helmet on my bun-styled head and we'd roar off on his Suzuki.
I was gleefully terrified of resting my leg against the exhaust pipe and melting tights into my flesh. But the fear was outweighed by the cool factor of me arriving to class on the back of a motorcycle with my Dad instead of the backseat of a sedan with a mom.