The Time Zone Dance

On Sunday at dance class, my dear friend Nadine shared the most life-changing info:
"How was your trip?"
"Great."
"Are you still jet-lagged?"
"I'm trying not to be."
"How many hours ahead is France?"
"Nine."
"So you need one day of recovery for every time zone shift."
"Hang on there a second, Missy. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I'm saying you need nine days to get over your jet lag."
"Oh, dear God in heaven. I could've been milking my jet lag for nine days?"
"That's one way to put it."
"So my cut off day is -- oh no."
"What?"
"Oh, no, no, no. I only have one more day to milk this."
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"But class just started."
"Wake up, Nadine. Can't you see I'm too jet-lagged to dance?"
"You seem fine."
"Well, I'm not."
"Oh, woman up, Carol."
"You woman up, Nadine. I'm going home to nap."