Commando Like a Ballerina

This week was a grand experiment in underthingies. I am an underwear girl, I just am. But, dancers don't do the underwear thing. I decided to try it out when I had to skip a week of laundry and was down to one pair of Spanx to wear in lieu of proper shorts or a leotard. Well, I gave it two classes and I have a verdict: meh.
With regular tights it was pretty much standard operating conditions down there, but with mesh tights it was a lot less cozy and a lot more wedgie-making. I refuse to search for the proper word, there. Wedgie is as wedgie does.
Anyway, so that is how the experiement went. You know. In case you needed to know that for some reason.

In other news: our car got a flat tire yesterday and I only got to class by running to catch a commute train and squeaking in right as the previous class was ending. I would probably have just skipped it and stayed home but I have missed my Thursday class for the past two weeks (one because it was Independence Day, the other because I was an emotional wreck after dropping my cat off at the vet for 48 hours to have god-knows-what done to her) and I was in no mood to miss another. Annoyingly, I also had to take the train home afterward. Which I didn't have time to think about in advance. So I rode home in a sweaty leotard and pink tights. If I had thought about it I would have at least brought a sweater to toss on. As it was it was pretty embarrassing.
It reminded me of the pizza place. There is a pizza place that is on the way home from class so we only ever stop there when my husband has picked me up and we are going home. And we have been hitting it pretty hard the past couple of months because we've been all stressed out. But I only ever go in there in cutoff yoga pants and pink transition tights rolled up to my ankles and a sweaty leotard. They must think I just dress that way.

He Wasn't Even Wearing a Bandana and Spurs

So, a few weeks ago my husband started a new job. It's good in that it pays (very) slightly more but sucks because he now gets home forty minutes later than he used to which means I can't have the car to drive to ballet class. Yeah, I am not excited, either. So I am taking the train to class these days. My husband picks me up afterward because there is no safe way for me to take the train home after dark (besides, I am gross after class). It's been a sore point, but there really aren't any better options right now.
The point is that today on the train to class I witnessed a robbery. There wasn't a weapon involved, thank goodness, but still. It's been a few years since I took public transportation with any regularity, so maybe I am just not used to it anymore. In my sheltered world of moving within the automotive bubble created by modern society I've quite forgotten how terribly real the rest of life can be.
On a brighter note I guess? The universe kindly did not present me with any assemblés tonight. Thank heavens for small favors, yes? Though I have been attempting to get my mind around the reverse combination that threw me so badly on Monday. Through a lot of surreptitious jumping around in the bathroom at work and LOTS of running it over in my mind whenever I have a spare moment I think that maybe I might possibly have a slightly better concept of what I was doing wrong. Sort of.