The Parable of the Ballerina

Josh lives.  Josh walks.  Josh breathes.  Josh speaks. 

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, are you giving up anything for Lent?”

Josh spoke thus:

There was a ballerina who danced for food, but she danced beautifully.

Too inexperienced for seduction, the young men in her audience were in love with the ballerina when she was on pointe.  When her arms were outstretched, when her neck arched, when her waist would snap but for the support of her shadow in the pas de deux, all the young men shivered at the fantasy of supporting her waist.

The ballerina shivered at the fantasy of hot mutton and mint.

Too world-weary for passion, the aging businessmen in her audience were overcome by the ballerina when she was in an arabesque.  When her leg was outstretched, when her back arched, when her figure would snap but for the support of her shadow in the pas de deux, all the aging businessmen swooned at the fantasy of supporting her arabesque.

The ballerina swooned at the fantasy of sugar plumb vol au vents and powdered sugar.

Too envious for appreciation, the women in her audience were overwhelmed by the ballerina when she was with their husbands.  When her eyes widened ingenuously, when her lips parted invitingly, when her attention would snap but for the support of a husband’s arm in a booth for two, all the women in the audience raged at the fantasy of their husbands’ supporting the ballerina’s egocentrism.

The ballerina raged with the fantasy of oven-fresh baguettes and newly churned creamery butter.

Too starved for emotion, the chorus dancers hungered for the ballerina’s lovers.  When the lovers ran up accounts at the boulangeries, when the lovers ran tabs at the high-society nightclub bars, when the water ran hot and cold directly from the taps in the lovers’ deluxe hotel suites, the chorus dancers pined for the attentions of the ballerina’s lovers.

The ballerina pined for the attentions of the butcher, the baker, the bartender.

The evening of Fat Tuesday, one of the ballerina’s lovers whispered in her ear.

“What are you giving up for Lent this year, my darling?” he asked.

The ballerina knew what she would not give up.  She would not give up hot mutton and mint.  She would not give up sugar plumb vol au vents and powered sugar.  She would not give up oven-fresh baguettes and newly churned creamery butter.  She would not give up accounts in boulangeries, tabs in high-society nightclub bars, taps that served hot and cold water.  She would not even give up dance.

“Don’t worry,” the ballerina replied, “I will not give up you.”