When I began ballet, I started with standard issue black slippers. Out of affection and frugality, I wore them till they were in tatters. My big toes eventually worked their way through the cloth. Doing routines at the barre one day I was suddenly ashamed of those toes gawking at me. Moreover, I felt pity for the poor bailarina working downwind of me! My classmates, almost always women, take great care with their attire: they pull their hair back in tight buns, put on make-up, have a rotating cast of pristine leotards. I may have come at ballet from a different angle — more Boy Scout than Bolshoi — but I suddenly felt ashamed, as if I were disrespecting five centuries of ballet masters. I resolved to change my ways […]

Comments
2 responses to “Dirty Pink Slippers”
What a great story! Topped off with a brilliant last comment, contradictory and funny. I love this epiphany where you find, rather than odds and ends of life around town, instead your own amazing self. Every word is authentic and all are threaded so flowingly. A pleasure to read.
Thank you Susan for your always thoughtful comments.