Once I dreamt of pink satin slippers and a shimmering tutu. I imagined standing on points and hearing the thunderous applause as a handsome prince knelt before me with a single rose.
Someday I would join the Ballets de Monte Carlo and tour the world, or so I dreamed.
But alas, this chubby youngster was none too graceful, could barely remember a Tour jeté or Arabesque. It was hopeless, I might as well bronze my slippers.