My Style Can't Be Duplicated or Recycled

Ah, dance. The province of so much awkwardness for so many people. Like dance costumes. They are always too short. And not like an inch too short or something. More like a foot shorter than you would like it to be. I take tap and my tap class had a recital last weekend. Our costumes, while some of the cuter costumes in the lot, were no exception to the rule. They were made of bright greenish blue stretchy skin tight material with sparkles everywhere, had collars and low necklines, black bows, a small belt and went down inches above the knee. They also did not have backs, which is the main plot of this entry. There are five of us girls in my dance class, the bloggers Rebecca and Marena among them, and one guy. As the recital drew nearer and nearer, we realized that we had to figure out what we were wearing under our dresses as far as undergarments went. We discussed our options—stick on bra-like things were voted out quickly, along with strange ones that had giant full body harnesses no one could make sense of. In the end we reached a compromise, and found some with clear plastic backs. We took measurements and ordered them. A week later the "support", as the director of the dance studio politely referred to it, had arrived. She passed them out to each of us girls at the end of dance one day, and as she was pulling a sixth one out of the bag she found she had no one to hand it to. We looked around. "No, there's only the five of us," we assured her. "Huh, I must've gotten a bra for P.," she muses, talking about the one guy in our class. Annie grabs it, "I'll go give it to him," she says, and searches for the poor unsuspecting guy. A few minutes later P. comes running in, distraught. "I don't want to wear a bra!" He blurts out to the director, completely serious. I, for one, could not stop laughing.


Sachi