Ballet Lessons

Garbed in beginner’s black leotard and ballet slippers, I glided across the wooden floor in her dance studio. “DIP, toe-toe … DIP, toe-toe,” she ordered in her German accent, clapping out the beat.
My ballet teacher clenched a wooden pointer with a black rubber tip. When I plied at the barre, she stabbed my calves and thighs to perfect my turnout. When I remembered my arms (“strong tree branches”) and my hands (“delicate leaves”), she was unimpressed. I practiced positions first through fifth until they were as natural as walking, to no avail.
I complained to Mom. With loving kindness, she suggested that perhaps I should just stick with softball.