In my quest to do at least one new thing every year, last week I did something I never thought I’d do. Still, I do enjoy watching it for a few minutes, even though I have no idea what story the dancers are trying to tell. To be honest, the thought of spending hours at a ballet performance makes me yawn.
The fantasy didn’t last long, the call of a game of handball or a tree to climb pushing it to the back of my brain. Doesn’t every little girl at one time or another dream of being a prima ballerina? Even though 99% of the time I was a cowboy hat and holster-toting die-hard tomboy, there was a moment or two – all because I read a biography of ballerina Margot Fonteyn – that I dreamt of gracefully gliding across the floor, pirouetting on my tippy-toes in my little tutu.
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