Just like the title says- every day people, a series of one shots. Not everyone is a hero, not all mutations are extraordinary. Everyday mutants are everyday people. Just like you and me.

Disclaimer: I don't own the xmen, I just like playing in their back yard. Rated T for dealing with heavy issues in upcoming vignettes. Nothing to major, but just to be on the safe side.

"Hey Jenny, I have a good one for you!" Steve saunters over to me, as I'm sewing ribbons on my new Pointe shoes and stretching in the dressing room between rehearsals.

"What's that?" I say looking up from my work, pushing my middle split just a bit further, purposely ignoring the look he gave me as I did so.

"A rabbi and a donkey walk into a barre." As the only two Jewish dancers in our small town ballet company, he feels compelled to tell me every Judaica related joke he runs across.

"What?" I blink up at him, picturing a fully dressed Orthodox Rabbi and a rather large mule walking face first into a wooden pole that's been affixed to a wall.

"You know, a barre." Steve mimics throwing back a shot.

"Wouldn't that be painful?" I went back to my shoes, completely uncomprehending.

"A bar not a barre, honestly. I knew you were a natural blonde." He drops down a few feet from me, and starts doing a few stretches of his own.

Because today, I am a blonde. Yesterday my hair was blue. The day before that, it was green.

You see, I have an addiction. To hair dye that is.

At least that's what I tell people.

It's easier than the actual explanation anyway. See, I regrow my hair every day. At least once a day. Thing is, it never comes in the same color twice in a row. I can't think of a color it hasn't come in as at least once. Natural looking or otherwise.

It may sound cool and all, but believe me, it's a pain. It usually starts during the night. I wake up in the morning to find clumps of hair on my pillow. When I'm done showering, I'm as bald as my eighty-four year old grandfather. By the time I pad back to my bedroom, it's started growing in again. That's when the migraine hits. Because my hair will grow back to its normal length- just below my shoulders, before I leave for the studio.

It's sort of my daily surprise- 'what color will it grow in today?'

Don't get me wrong, I like surprises, but sometimes it grows in the most god awful colors at the most incontinent times. Like the time it fell out after a bad rehearsal and grew in puce right before my premier as Odette in my little company's performance of Swan Lake.

Thank god for wigs, that's all I have to say.

It does have a tendency to throw off the classical ballerina image. All long legs and graceful arms, black leotard with pink tights, thigh high knit leg warmers, hair in a high bun- Technicolor or otherwise. Lately it's been on a streak of rainbow bright type colors. Much to the chagrin of my artistic director and ballet mistress.

"Jen-nieeee-feeer! Look zo beautee-ful vith normal hair color. You have audition for Boston Ballet en one week. Can't you keep hair pree-zentable color for vonce?" The ballet mistress presides over the dressing room, graceful strides leaving no doubt as to who reigns supreme over her dancers.

At the sight of her unorthodox student looking like a lovely and demure little danseur, she is ecstatic.

"Sure Miss Uralsky, I'll try."

Next one shot: Great Expectations