I spent four hours in a Victorian Ballroom dancing class yesterday preparing for The Victorian Ball next Saturday night. While the dances themselves aren’t that physically challenging, after four hours with only three-minute breaks between the six or so dances we learned, I was ready to become one with my pillow. It’s sad because I was younger and more fit than most of the people in that class — or so I thought! That’ll learn me.

I dug dancing with The Marquise and The King of the Nachoheads. That was rockin’. But The Marquise and I are both wondering how our dresses are going to survive the pummeling from people’s heels. People aren’t used to being around those trailing bustle skirts, yo. And they’re expecting about 250 people at this thing! I think my dress might be doomed unless I make some alterations. My friends were also telling me that the Regency dances are much more friendly and fun. Apparently the people were far more reserved at the Victorian dance classes. Kind of fits with the period, though, don’t you think?

Very little writing happened this weekend, which pisses me off. Hopefully I can make up for lost time this week. In the meantime: