After barre, Mme. Francesca follows me to the locker room and tells me I’m officially going to the Cupids dance program this summer and I just can’t stand it. I’m over that toilet bowl so fast, squeezing around my uvula like I could rip it all the way off, carrot mash and a nibble of chocolate splattering the bowl like an ugly sunset watercolor. I go and I go harder than I normally do, even though Mme. doesn’t seem to notice.
Call it the Swan program, at least. Make it sound graceful, with a swoop neck and big wings.
