The Plate of Torture

Every Thursday, I gear up for the moment in the afternoon when I remind Snow White it is ballet day. She's tired from a long day at school, and really prefers to be a bit of a homebody. She cries and whines and insists that she hates dance and doesn't want to go. Then, with tears and sweat, she gets fed a snack and dressed, and I drop her off at the dance studio. In two hours, I pick up a completely transformed daughter who loves ballet, is all smiles, and chatters the whole way home about what steps she learned and how cool her dance will be at recital.

Except for last week. When I got to the dance studio, she was sitting in the corner with her class, watching the younger girls show off their dance. Snow White was pouting and was the only girl in her class missing a 'plate'.

(Now, I'm not sure that 'plate' is the official term for this kind of tutu, but that is what Snow White's teacher called it, and the stiff white that theirs were made of did look an awfully lot like a large round platter that would go perfectly with my Corelle dishes, so I think the name fits. Here is a sample)--
As the little and bigger ballerinas filed out of class, I asked Snow White why she didn't have a plate. "Didn't it fit?" I asked.

"Yes," she scowled, "but I hate it and took it off. I never want to wear it again."

"Well," I kindly spit, "I don't care if you hate it, you are wearing it again for your recital. I spent almost one hundred dollars for that stinkin' plate and it's matching cover and corset, and you will wear it for recital if it kills one of us to do it."

"No way. I'm not doing recital then. It itches and it's ugly and stupid."

"What's stupid about a bunch of tulle? It looks pretty smart and fancy to me. You were so excited when you saw the picture of it. You look like a ballerina."

"Whatever. I hate it. I never want to wear it again," she seethed, and slammed the door to the van.

"Okay, we'll talk about it later," I said, then changed the subject, "So how was class today? Did you finish up your ending pose? Was everyone there?"

"It was horrible, and I'm never doing the dance again."

"What?! You love it."

"Well, I did before Miss M made me wear that stupid plate to do it. Now I hate it. It's too hard and I don't want to do it."

"What do you mean it's too hard? You had it memorized a month ago. You love it."

"But now when we wear that plate thing, Miss M can tell when we don't tuck in our bums. That stupid plate tilts wrong when you cheat on your posture, and Miss M kept telling me to "lengthen" my body. Ugh, I hate doing that. It makes me tired."

"Oh, so really you're just mad at Miss M, you don't really hate your costume."

"Yeah, it's hard to do what she said and it makes me more tired. You could never believe how many times she stopped the music and made us do a part again because our stupid plates weren't tipped the right way. Now she can tell when we are moving wrong and I hope she forgets them forever. But, I still hate my costume, even if it's cool. It itches. Bad."

Well, I finally gave up and started talking about something else. I figured it couldn't be as bad as she thought it was, and she'd get over it soon. When I searched for the picture above, I found it on this website that said, "On stage, the tutu fully exposes a ballerina’s technique while enhancing her aesthetic flair. These breathtaking constructions require imaginative design and intricate craftsmanship, as well as careful consideration for the dancer who will perform in them...For Principal Artist Lucinda Dunn, performing in a tutu has its pitfalls: “You can’t see your toes, your technique is exposed and, worst of all, the tulle gives you an itchy bottom!”

So, I've decided that at around one hundred dollars I pretty much got a sweet bargain. Not only is the plate the part of a pretty great looking costume, if I keep it around, I could use it as a torture device for Snow White. Either that, or I could fill in the middle with a dip bowl, and use it as a fancy platter. I can't wait 'til recital is over and the costume becomes mine! Wahoo!!