To a certain type of little girl, there’s nothing like pink ballet shoes.
I mean NOTHING. Nada.
Before I was Princess Rosebud AND before I was Rowdy Rosie, I was simply Rosebud.
I was ballet-obsessed.
A little ballerina in pink tights, leotard, and ballet shoes, and once in a blue moon at a recital, I was lucky enough to be chosen to wear a pink tutu. HEAVEN.
Yes, I was a bunhead. And proud of it!
There was the special red letter day all ballet dancers wait for; the day we’re told our feet and legs are strong enough for POINTE WORK –and that means TOE SHOES.
To dance en pointe is the epitome of a dream come true.
You never forget the day your mom takes you to Capezio to be fitted for those first toe shoes. Smelling and stroking them all the way home, hand sewing the satin ribbons in the perfect position, tying and retying them, clumping around the house on hard flat soles that feel like wood, hours spent staring at your reflection in the mirror. I AM A BALLERINA; ignoring the promise made to Madame NOT to try to stand en pointe without her specific instructions.
Innocence and hope and aspiration all wrapped up in pink satin.
These are my old shoes, the toe box full of lambs wool. I’m walking around in them right now…and my feet are killing me, lol.
I definitely can’t execute twelve fouette turns in a row like the good old days. Never mind trying SIXTY-FOUR!!!
Down in the village. there’s the cutest little ballet store, and I couldn’t resist a new pair of soft shoes for barre work-and an adorable shirt–pink, of course!
And I know what you’re thinking and NOPE, I’m never going to grow up, don’t even ASK!