Weirdly, this is not in my handwriting — or any handwriting I remember. So perhaps I didn’t write this after all — or perhaps it was a long-forgotten collaboration with a long-forgotten colleague. It looks like it might have been a school assignment. Hopefully grade school.
If I did indeed write this, I wonder what my obsession was with girls whose parents would not let them attend dancing school.
The Dancer
There was once a young girl. Her name was Jennifer. Her parents called her Jenny for short; so will we. To begin this story I will start at her house in the morning. Well just after Jenny had gotten dressed she stamped down the steps and into the dining room.
She usually was happy but today, NO! Today there was no dancing lessons. Her parents did now want her to go to dancing lessons in the first place, but Jenny insisted so her mom and dad had to take her. She said that she would run away and she started to pack. But her mom and dad said to STOP! So she did.
She sat down on her chair with a plop. And the glasses trembled as her parents came in. Her mother said that she was a poor sport. Her father just sat down to eat and then there was a silence and it was broken when Jenny’s little sister came in the room and said, “I WANT SOMETHING TO EAT!” So her mother took her and put her on the chair and put a towel around her neck.
Jenny had nothing to do except to read. This was a Saturday that flew like it was not even in there. No dancing, no dancing, no dancing kept floating in her mind and she was almost crying. But she did not know what to do about her mom and dad.
So she decided to leave so she did. She went to dancing school and lived there for a little while. But she got lonesome for her parents.
So she went home and her parents sent her up to her room. Her sister’s dog licked her in the face and hands.
She had learned to dance. So her parents let her be in the play and that was all.
Clutch Cargo Lips 