With little more than four weeks until the May Day celebrations, things stepped up a notch or two. The procession route had been confirmed and the two floats had been secured; one is a flat bed truck on which we’d all be sat, the other a horse drawn carriage alongside which the seven sister’s would do their dance like walk whilst receiving bouquets of flowers to lay at the May Queen’s feet.
At my next Brownie meeting we were all awarded the dancer badge which features an embroidered ballerina. I was also awarded the fire and map reader to my collection so at least I had some ‘cool’ badges to stitch to my sleeve. After Brownies we continued making the garlands and other décor for the procession and on Saturday morning I returned to the yawn inducing ballet class. Mother accompanied me and went all gooey when I exited the changing room wearing my leotard. Afterwards, she talked endlessly about how much she enjoyed watching us. “You seemed to enjoy it after a while.”
“It’s really boring.” I whined. “Especially doing the five positions for like… ever.”
“Well practice makes perfect.” she replied.
The following week my mother took her camera. I wasn’t impressed and suggested that Miss Jarovski might not let her take photographs. Mother told me that she’d already asked and assured me that it’s OK. “Great.” I thought. “Just don’t put one in a frame where everyone can see it.” I requested.
The class began and followed the same routine as before; warm up and stretch followed by the five positions (for ages and ages) then prancing, curtseying and pretending to receive bouquets. “Remember to smile girls.” Miss Jarovski frequently reminded us as we gracefully pranced around the studio. We all felt uncomfortable except for Barbara, but thanks to the attractive, engaging and exotic Miss Jarovski, we did begin to feel a bit more competent and confident whilst doing the slow graceful walk that Brown Owl feels is so important.
Predictably, my mother enthusiastically asked if I’d enjoyed myself as she drove me home. “It was OK I guess.” I glumly replied, before admitting that I don’t feel quite so much of a dork as I did to begin with. “I wish she wouldn’t keep saying ‘smile girls’, ‘gracefully girls’, ‘well done girls’” I moaned. “It’s obvious that three of us are boys.”
Mother suggested that I shouldn’t worry about it and reminded me that we’re collectively referred to as ‘girls’ at Brownies too. “At the end of the day, the May Queen parade is a girl’s event, so it sort of makes sense.”
“No it doesn’t.” I retorted. “Judy doesn’t get called a boy when she does boy things.”
“True.” Mother replied. “I suppose it’s a case of when in Rome.” she added.
“Yeah I guess.” I muttered. The route home took us along the town’s main street. Bunting for the May Day celebrations is already going up and it won’t be too long before I’m taking part in the May Queen parade. The more I think about having to perform the slow fancy prance all the way down the Main Street, receiving bouquets of flowers and executing numerous curtseys in front of my classmates, friends and neighbours… the more I think I’d rather be the May Queen than one of the Seven Sisters. All she has to do is sit, smile and wave.
We arrived home and Father was in the lounge reading the Saturday broadsheet. He dropped its corner, threw me a smile and asked how my ballet class went. “Boring.” I moaned. He asked what I was up to now. “Nothing much.” I replied. “Can I put the TV on?” I asked.
“Sure.” he replied, passing me the remote control.
There wasn’t much on so I sat through the weekly sports round up which included soccer highlights, cycling, tennis, snooker and the Argentinian rally. “I think I’d like to be a rally driver when I grow up.” I said as the powerful cars churned their way through a rugged landscape. Saying that, the coverage switched to the Chinese Grand Prix and I said I’d like to be a Formula 1 driver too.
“You could be anything you want if you put your mind to it.” Father replied, before suggesting he take Judy and I go-kart racing one day.
“Really?” I yelped. “That’d be so cool.”
“What’d be so cool?” my mother asked as she entered. I replied and Mother said that sounds like fun. “Better than ballet eh?” she added.
“Anything’s better than ballet.” I claimed.