Maybe she doesn’t realize I was born to be stepped on but not abused. I can take a lot, but you try sleeping in the dark and watching, day after day, others chosen over you. Pull and stretch my limits and I just might break when she needs me most.
Aw, who am I kidding? I am so elated when she needs me that I can’t help reflect her brilliant creativity and I shine right along with her. I support her most difficult steps.
Doesn't she know I'll never let her down or miss a beat? So why do THEY get so much more attention?
“Oh stop your complaining; at least you still have your girlish figure and hardly any wrinkles or scuffs.”
“Yes, but you and the others get to go out every day and strut your stuff right beside her.”
“Don’t you get it, YOU’RE “The chosen one” dummy, not us. Do we ever get to touch the sacred floor or see the bright lights or hear the oohs and aaahhs? No, but you don’t hear us complaining. You are cherished and saved for grandeur.”
Wow, grandeur, yes. And how grand it will be when she trusts me again and I step onto the magnificent floor, ready to express the musicality of her movement. Floating and sliding with each step, carrying the weight of her aspirations. Goal, score… TROPHY!
“You beauties are so into yourself.”
STOP! Enough with you guys. I’m a crotchety, aging Wacky Ex Wife and I need your sole support. We will have our moment to shine soon enough, I promise. For now, apparently the appetite of my computer desired the video of our last performance. Now what? None of us can bask in (the agony) the glory… Beware and be ready. I take no prisoners….
~signed The Wacky Ex~