Goldilocks Gals

... and futzing with the temperature

How many dancers does it take to control the temperature in the dance studio?  If it were up to the teacher, zero.  Every dance or exercise class I take, the instructors are supposed to call the shots. This doesn't always sit well with the Goldilocks Gals, who feel compelled to render a verdict:  Too hot. Too cold.  Last night, the jazz hands came out.  The ballerinas before us had turned the studio into a fridge.  The consensus when we walked in:  Brrrrrrrr.  From there, it turned ugly.  Someone opened the back door, letting in the muggy.  Someone futzed with the a/c.  Someone pissed off the laid back Dougie, who, unlike other Dance Nazis I've taken from, rarely gets mad.  The basic message:  Jazz hands off the a/c.  Oh, there was huffiness and whispered commentary.  There was weirdness and drama.  There was the passive-aggressive cha cha.  The SJG stayed out of it.  I broke no chairs.  I ate no porridge.  I pretended it was "just right."  I decided I shouldn't mix in.