“I wanted to be a dancer,” said Crisp, my aged companion, after we’d listened to the guide’s talk about the life of the jilted dancer.
“I thought I was all grace and poise,” she continued, “I’d flit about the house twirling and pirouetting, it used to drive my parents crazy.”
To look at Crisp, being a dancer was not something that came to mind. If she’d once been a potential dancer, time had allowed her to grow out of it.
“My father took me aside one day and told me I wouldn’t ever be a dancer because I had two left feet. I was devastated at the time, but my father saw my reaction and told me to smarten up and stay the course and use my talents as an accountant. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven him for that. I hated accountancy.
I suggested we move on and join the others for tea.