Days leading up to my first class

I am nervous. I want to back out. I am going alone, despite having convinced many friends to also sign up for the living social deal. I am ok with this, having the normal human fear of looking incredibly stupid and inept in front of people one knows. So, about 1.5 hours before the class starts, I don a leotard, yoga pants, and UGGs. On my way out, I hastily  grab a pair of high heeled- platforms I had acquired on my latest trip back home, thinking -Why not? I wouldn’t go to ballet class without slippers or pointe shoes! Let’s do this. On the subway ride downtown I am, to my astonishment, racked with nerves, despite the fact that I am a seasoned dancer with flexibility and strength to my name. But, instead of fleeing as soon as I get out at Columbus Circle, I bravely forge on down the street, clutching in my right hand the piece of paper with the address of the studio as if it were a lifeline as I navigate the usual barrage of Saturday afternoon shopper and tourists in NYC. It is 3:40, and the class begins at 4:00. I find myself on the doorstep of the studio, looking around like a detective for hints of what awaits me on the other side of that door. Are there dead strippers lining the street? I don’t see any, so I figure I am safe. My mother calls, and I tell her hurriedly that I am about to go to my first ballet class in 1.5 years , and that I can’t talk. I settle my nerves and waste time by walking down the street and back about three or four times. Finally it is acceptably close to the start time of class that I feel justified in going in. The doorman asks me which suite I am here for. Quelle surprise! Do I have to tell some other sentient human being about this escapade? It seems I must. I stammer out- Um, New York…..Dancing …?  What I interpret as a knowing smile breaks out across this man’s face. Were I not so dark-complexioned, I feel certain I would have been as red as... what is the reddest thing one can think of- a lobster? a firetruck? a tomato?  I make my escape from the smirk of the doorman and hurry into the elevator.