Today, I cleaned out some closets. I found a big pouch in one corner — misty blue linen embroidered in pink with a line drawing of a bikini and personalized with my name. I had forgotten all about it. I peeked inside to see a whole bunch of fishnet stockings, in black and two shades of nude, each folded neatly before being stuffed all together.
Oh, I remember such happy, almost carefree days — the stockings are a blast from a not-so-distant past when I would dance almost every day, both for work (I had a dance show then) and play. I remember glittery costumes, tiny and fringy, that would sway merrily wherever my hips went. There were full skirts that twirled grandly and made me feel like those images on top of old-fashioned music boxes and wedding cakes of old. Once they suspended me on a swing that descended slowly from a very high ceiling in the studio. I was in a white gown that, at some point in the choreography, I would have to take off to reveal gold shorts. It was my birthday, a “working birthday” as the industry would call it, and the months before that were quite rough here and there; but I recall, there on the swing in my white gown with the short gold shorts under it, how I had this knowing in my gut that the year ahead was going to be good.