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published: 2008-09-23

My man came home early from work so I could go to flamenco. It had all been perfectly planned, I had even made broccoli soup in the afternoon for him and my son to eat. I arrived at the dance studios well on time, changed into my skirt and heels, chatted cheerily with the urban looking 18-year olds who were practicing hip-hop steps for their streetdance class next to ours.
While watching the other flamenco dancers trickle into the changing room, something subconsciously dawned on me. Their skirts were colourful and double or even triple layered as opposed to my single layered black one. They were focused and serious, their hair tied up neatly and held in place with elegant pins and combs. Most of them dark-haired, red lipstick. My teacher gave me an awkward look. But it was only when she started the class that I understood: I was in a much more advanced class than the one I usually take. Which is tomorrow. 

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