�

She sits there, on the bench, legs pressed close against each other, her hands demurely folded in her lap. The lace of her collar scratches at her chin, and the stiff fabric of her best dress feels cold and quite unlike

the soft cottons of her usual attire. Shiny shoes, little socks with lace tops, hair in a flowing ponytail�

Her eyes rove the room, watching the dancers float about, arms held out stiffly like bird�s wings, legs moving as duck�s legs do underwater �

frantically paddling for the shore of the waltz. Wishing she was a dancer,

wishing these legs could do more than swing from the bench, she presses her

hands together and bites down on her lip.

Supplicant, pliable, soft � is this feminine? If I yield to you does that make me weak or does it make me attractive? Dainty, delicate, petalled � are these qualities you seek? A rose among the thorns, the light in the dark, the blush on a cheek.

If I swing my arm gracefully out to accept your hand as you ask for a dance, will that be acceptable? If I float on tippy toes over the floor, swaying and seeking the shield of your arms, does that make me more of a woman?

Crossed legs
Uncrossed arms
Slender fingers
Polished nails
Glossy hair
Innocent glance over the shoulder
A �nice� figure
Violet perfume
Beaded handbag
Ruffled skirt
Ribbons and laces and bows

External accoutrements that constitute a whole greater than the sum of its moderately priced parts. Necessary evils in the form of feminine sprays that deodorise, desensitise, and soak up the muck.

She takes a dainty sip of the fizzy drink her mother has thoughtfully bought for her while she watches them dance. She can�t wait to get home and into her flannel pyjamas, tucked up under the pink coverlet with her teddy

clasped tight to her chin. After all, a girl needs her beauty sleep.