Leotarded.

When I was little I wanted to be a dancer more than anything in the world.  I took endless classes in tap, ballet and jazz dance.  Each year at the annual Dance School recital, I’d look forward to prancing in my newly purchased costumes, resplendent in glitter spray, shiny sequins and Spandex.  Each outfit was selected to complement whatever song we happened to be dancing to.  And of course, each & every costume needed to be commemorated with a “professional” photograph.

Thanks to my parents, who shelled out the cash for lessons, for shiny unitards and pale pink slippers and lots of frosted blue eye shadow, and, most of all, who were kind enough to fund the accompanying portraits— and to not throw them out in the years that followed my eventual retirement from the dance world.

I’m Brandy.  And I was leotarded.

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