|Age Range(s)||Young Adult (20-35), Adult (36-50)|
|Type of monologue / Character is||Talking to the audience, Reminiscing life story/Telling a story|
|Description||The Kinderdance Class - Brett talks about why she may have been fired from her job as a nanny/cook/maid.|
|Details||"Nanny. Not." Middle of the Book|
Brett talks about why she may have been fired from her job as a nanny/cook/maid.
Written by Jass Richards
|One day, while I was watching Jenny's kinderdance class from the back of the studio, perched on a small chair with the rest of the mothers or mother-substitutes, the teacher had to suddenly leave.|
"Would you take over for a moment, please?" she said to me, rushing out. Serves me right for sitting closest to the door.
Okay. Sure. How hard can this be? I stood in front of the class.
"All right, let's try a simple step-together-step-touch," I said, demonstrating, moving to the right, and then to the left. And forgetting for the moment that they had probably just learned how to walk. Forward. I was now expecting them to dance. Sideways.
A glance in the mirror tipped me off. One went down. Then another. And a third. Ohhh, that had to hurt. The fourth watched speculatively, chubby legs planted firmly, thumb in her mouth. It refused to try the step. It was destined for great things in life.
Okay, I thought, I'm no Bob Fosse, I'm not obsessed with that particular step, my choreography can do without it.
"Good," I said after the three casualties had regained an erect posture, "Very good." (I knew the importance of positive feedback it was in Power Training! after all.) "How about just a step-touch, step-touch, step-touch," I exaggerated the step, moving from side to side.
Interestingly, all of them got it almost immediately. Well, the step part anyway. They weren't having anything to do with the touch part. They all just started rocking stiff-legged from side to side. A few glanced with furtive pride to the back Look Ma, I'm a dancin' fool!
'Course, none of them were in time with the music. Well then, let's work on our rhythm. I put on what would become one of my dog s favourites. "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road."
"Let's all clap in time to the music," I said with enthusiasm, clapping in time to the music. They tried. It sounded like an erratic echo chamber. One loud clap mine on beat one, and a bunch of tiny echo claps scattered haphazardly among the microbeats of the rest of the bar. Quite a neat effect, actually.
I then noticed that a few had hands that kept missing each other. Coordination! Of course! I'm sure that's also in the lesson plan! So when they had tired of clapping, fourteen seconds into the song, I said, "Okay, everyone, let's try something else. Put your arms out straight. Now close your eyes and touch your nose with the second finger of your right hand."
Drunks, the whole lot of them. Especially the few who fell down as soon as they had closed their eyes.