Just came back from watching my daughter at ballet.
I am definitely not a lover of dance in any form. I, myself, possess about as much poise and grace as a lobotomised dodo and have as much idea about the secrets of the physical performing arts as I have of astro physics.
So I find it unbelievable when I watch my daughter, whose DNA stems from my gene pool, prancing and pirouetting like leaping gazelle to the collective gasps of appreciation of the other parents. She stands head and shoulders above the rest of the class and it never fails to move me when I see her petite form move with such a natural elegance and elan.
She makes my day, she really does.
Monday didn't turn out too bad after all.