One of the reasons I love ballet:
Ballet loves the pale.
Went to an acupuncturist, was lying there on the table, needles stuck in my face, looking like the dog who gets a little too curious about the porcupine, when the acupuncturist demands,
“Why you so pale?! Your husband not feed you?”
To which I reply,
“Ok, Thing #1! I am a modern, grown-up, independent kinda lady! Which, ok fine now that you bring it up, sure, that does mean that I can barely feed myself and yes, you’re right, my husband should probably take me out for dinner. For both of our sakes. Maybe you could write a prescription? For my fave restaurant?
And Thing #2: Uh, why don’t You tell Me why I’m so pale? You’re the one wearing the lab coat! Isn’t that, like, your job? Can’t you just look at my tongue and know? Here, I’ll stick it out: mmmmmlllllhhhhuh!”
In a blonde, tanned world, it’s always comforted me to look through books of ballet history and see page after page of pale dark-haired girls.