Ugh. Did guys complain about their thighs being sore? Whatever, Jon thought, and replaced the ice pack. That Brittney-Lynne was a slave driver! All day again, it was more dance steps, except this time she outfitted him in two medieval torture devices. The clunky white industrial boots she locked him into forced his heels up into the air behind him, making Jon walk on his tip-toes the entire day. It was brutal! - especially when she sped up the timing of his routine. Sure, by that time he had the moves memorized, but doing it in those boots was another story altogether. He just had to mince from one place to another. It was embarrassing. And Brittney-Lynne didn't take them off him after training, either! She said that he needed to "build up strength" or something dumb like that. He would've complained, but when she flashed a smile his way, he just, kind of, forgot.
As Jon left the center, he felt a little more confident. Walking was getting easier. He just had to sway his hips back and forth to counteract the boots. Actually, he was more surprised that he didn't figure that out sooner. Exaggerating the motion made it easier too. Whatever, he thought, and made a mental note to schedule an appointment with the doctor about this job mix-up. He wondered how Sarah was faring in her disaster. On his water break, he caught a glimpse of her clad with a new pair of coke-bottle glasses. Glasses! On Sarah McMillan! It was a given that she'd be talking to the doctor, too.
Opening the door to his car, Jon flung the new bag that Brittney-Lynne gave him on to the passenger seat. Now that he was commuting so much between the center and home, she suggested that he get a couple bags to carry all his odds and ends, because as the class moved forward, he'd be getting lots more take-home material. Jon had no idea what she meant by that, but he knew that some teachers loved to give out junk every now and again. At the current moment though, the carry-all turned out to be pretty convenient - all the normal stuff that would've been weighing down his pockets fit in nicely; the cell phone, wallet, extra tissue, band-aids, all that stuff. Not bad! But did she have to pick bright yellow leather?
He was looking forward to getting to bed tomorrow was going to be a long day.
