Why Large Women Should Never Dance – An Encounter with “Twiggy”
There are thousands of body shapes in the world today. Tall, short, lanky, round, pear-shaped, board-shaped... the list is endless. But in a world that is constantly challenging its occupants to be politically correct and accepting of all peoples, there is one group that has fallen terribly short of acceptance.
For instance, there's really nothing worse than say, a big-boned, tall, full-figured chick (like myself) walking into a retail outlet that specializes in dancewear. You learn rather quickly that there is another dimension that co-exists on the planet with big people... namely very small framed, stick people that you swear never reach puberty. They don’t worry about things like having deep, husky voices or shaving. They are; however, concerned with their ability to reach the can of condensed soup that is perilously close to the edge of the top shelf in their kitchen pantry. They’ve been relegated to purchasing stepladders and have rearranged their pantry so that only the once-purchased-but-never-utilized spices hold the top shelf honor. They’ve been destined to place their coffee cups on the lower level of the cupboard food chain.
I say this as I have just experienced taking my size 10 foot to said establishment and having "Twiggy" ask me if she could help me. When I said that I was looking for a dance shoe, she asked me what size "her" foot was. It was obvious to her that I was purchasing this for someone else. The good Lord knows that I would not take my size 16 body into a store that specializes in size 0 and 1, and as far as I know... negative size clothing as well. I let her know immediately that the dance shoe was for me specifically. I understand that my feet are larger than the normal dancer foot might be... unless we are talking about Mikael Barishnikov... and my feet are probably bigger than his as well.
The astonished and quite doubtful look on “Twiggy’s” face was irritating at best. I refrained from telling her where I wanted to place my size 10 foot. I found myself wanting to prove to her that I was quite capable of dancing in the finest ballet. As far as she knew, I was perhaps an astute tap dancer. I may be a stand-in for the currently touring Riverdance troupe. My abilities at this point were as limitless as the Montana horizon. I immediately wanted to prove to her that I was quite capable of moving around a pole, and there was many a table with stories to tell of my youthful escapades. I was certain these stories would have left her as unimpressed as if I began whirling around her and leaped off the platform where the dance shoes were residing. I knew my prowess would be wasted.
To make matters just a little worse, she insisted on taking the brochured diagram of my little shoes out of the box to show me how to put them on. She let me know that this endeavor was indeed a little tricky. I hope the look on my face was sufficient to let her know that while I am indeed a southern lady, I was not born yesterday. I have not spent my life in a kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. I am completely capable of putting shoes on my feet, and I can even tie shoe laces without a diagram. I know this is an amazing accomplishment for someone from this region... but I consider myself quite proficient in shoe etiquette. I assured her that I was capable of both putting on shoes, and reading a diagram if it became necessary. I then paid Twiggy for my shoes, skipped over the yippy dog that stood guard at the front door, and dashed over to the mall for a lunch that would have sent Twiggy to the emergency room. I suddenly felt good about my life, my size, and my big feet as a memory of my mother’s voice clearly came back to me... “Always remember, Cathryn... it takes more foundation to hold up a mansion than it does an outhouse.”
Take that Twiggy!