The Donut Dancer

Albert Einstein called ballet dancers “Athletes of God”…but Bethie was a dancer who loved donuts.

Once a promising protégé, her dream of becoming Odette or Giselle seemed to vanish with each doughy delight.

At first her tutu fit…but as the years progressed and the pounds packed her pink tights, she could no longer hide behind her once exemplary demi-plie.

With every attempted twirl, leap, and glide, gravity cruelly exerted its grounding influence. Even the wooden barre made persistent creaking complaints from undue stress, casting fears it would one day snap under pressure.

After a particularly grueling practice, Bethie was asked to stay after class. Her inner thighs chafed rhythmically as she shuffled toward her instructor, Ms. Delphine Dubois, a timeless beauty whose slippered feet seemed permanently locked in fifth position. The fidgety ingenue waited anxiously for her to speak.

“Elizabeth, it has come to our attention that you lack the discipline needed to be a dancer. We have no choice but to cut you from the corps de ballet.”

With a springy grand jeté, Ms. Dubois flamboyantly exited the rehearsal room…and with that, poor Bethie packed up her hopes, dreams, a bag of smelly leotards, and stumbled from the studio…with smart money betting heavy on it being her swan song.

It started innocently enough. Her parents divorced when Bethie was six. Before their split, she was privy to many dramatic battles in which plates were tossed and insults thrown. Her father’s final curtain call culminated in a wild turkey-like wringing of her mother’s neck. Caught in the act by his daughter, he nervously pointed to a fresh box of Krispy Kremes, and instructed Bethie to take them to her room and eat as many as she wanted.

From that moment on, those sweet ring-shaped dunkers became an addiction holding her hostage.

All this may seem terribly depressing. You might even find yourself saying…”Why should I read this drivel? You’ve got nerve taking me on a dead end joyride with some bulbous ballerina.” And who could blame you?

But you see, there’s a point to this story…a “warm-and-fuzzy-feel-good” moment that I will eventually get to. It boils down to that age-old adage, “Good things happen to those who pull thongs out of their bums and get to work.”

For Bethie knew… wedged deep down under, she was not a quitter. If anything, Ms. Dubois’s well-placed pointed toe kick was just the cattle prod she needed. Besides, she had backup. If dancing didn’t pan out, the love of donuts would positively pad her resume toward a career in law enforcement.

But Bethie wanted more.

In a dietary about face, she devoured Baby Bok Choy exclusively, and embarked on a merciless workout schedule. She returned to ballet, training rigorously with Viktor, a Bolshevik artist.

He strongly suggested that Bethie move to Moscow and join a troupe. Before long she was fluent in Russian, changed her name to Tatiana, and rose to virtuoso acclaim. She was the talk of the Kremlin, the Balkans, then all of Europe. At her jubilant NYC debut, she was TATIANA, THE PRIMA BALLERINA.

And that dear friends is what happens when you give up donuts.

The End.

(Stay tuned for Part Two: Bethie Was a Dancer Who Loved Smirnoff…a sad, yet inspirational tale of triumph. The gripping saga of a boozing ballerina’s battle to balance vodka and pirouettes.)