Random Ballet

Does anyone else break out into ballet for no apparent reason? I just got up to get a glass of water. My trek into the kitchen involved a series of grand jetés and pirouettes and a few other French-sounding-things-that-I-can't-remember-the-name-of. My kitchen is a paltry seven steps from my desk. This flurry of dancing involved spinning, leaping, flourishing arm movements, pointed toes, quick jumps and steps, and a deep, graceful bow.

I took ballet as a child, and had to quit due to Saturday school (too many snow days, and apparently someone thought that summer was more important than Saturdays). My teacher referred to a plié as a "rabbit-hole." I wore a dark pink sweat suit with light pink letters down the side of one leg over my pick tights and leotard. My dad would help my sleepy and sister and me out of our sweats when we reached the dance studio an hour's drive away. He sat next to rich divorcées and read Agatha Christie mysteries while Sister and I made holes for our rabbits to jump through.

Someone (was it you?) told me (or did I witness it?) that the teacher wouldn't let her go potty, so she peed in the floor. I wish I could remember why I remember this.

I took ballet again in college. We had to take a physical education course, and I love dancing, but DO NOT do it in public. Am too embarrassed. But I took the class, and had so much fun, until the final where we had to perform on stage to an empty auditorium, well empty except for the dancing instructor (who was also my advisor and an English professor) and the theatre manager who looks like Jesus. It was Jesus that made me nervous, and the fact that the instructor was filming it.

I thought the pink tights made me look fat. Actually, I thought I was fat. And this was when I was actually in my target weight range. Stupid, stupid girl. But when the music started, I danced, and was nervous for the first few steps. But I held my head up, elongated my neck, and felt free. I danced and didn't care about Jesus or the film or how I looked. Then the music stopped, and I was insecure Tree again.

I still cut my toenails short - like dancer's toes, and wore my ballet slippers in my wedding. They were pink, but I rubbed in a thin layer of white shoe polish. Now they're an ivory color like my wedding dress. I still have my ballet ensemble. And I still hear the music in my head, and every once in a while the fluttering ballerina simply must escape.