The ballet school letter is lying by her sewing machine. I wave it in front of her face. “Mama!”
She looks up, a little dazed. I’d be dazed too if I’d been staring at purple and orange feathers all morning. “Why, Alexandrea!” she says, standing up to look me over. “You look wonderful. All ready for class?”
“Mama, listen to this.” I read from the letter. “Students at the Nutcracker School shall wear standard ballet leotards and tights. Dress code shall be strictly enforced.”
Mama puts down the feathers. “You are wearing a leotard. It’s fabulous and unique. Can you imagine how it will stand out onstage?” She strikes a dramatic pose, as if an audience of 3,000 were watching her every move.
Sure, the tutu would look great onstage. However, I am not going onstage. I am going to a ballet class at a strange school in a strange city. Mama seems to have missed this critical point.
“And it doesn’t say you can’t wear a tutu over the leotard,” Mama continues. “You are wearing those gorgeous tights I set out for you, yes?” She tries to peek at my behind, but I hold the tutu down. The tights I’m wearing are one of Mama’s favorite creations. The legs look like normal tights, but the rear end is covered with shiny pink lightning bolts. You have to wear them over your leotard, not under, or you wouldn’t be able to see the lightning (which would be fine with me). Mama calls the outfit Girl Power—Girl for the tutu and Power for the lightning. She says the contrast between the delicate tutu and the powerful lightning makes an interesting artistic statement. The dress code says we’re supposed to wear tights, not interesting artistic statements. At least no one will see them under the tutu.
