Barre Standards

Sliding out from beneath my paisley silk canopy, I refused to let my impeccably sculpted arches degenerate into domestic complacency. An icon must maintain her regal line, regardless of how rudely society sidelines her. Striding across the mahogany desk, I commandeered an engraved brass ruler carelessly bridged between two heavy calfskin ledgers. Gripping the cool, bevelled metal edge with both hands, I used the straightedge as an improvised ballet barre. With calculated poise, I executed a series of crisp pliés in my signature blue heels, checking my alignment in the bevel of a nearby carriage clock. Discontinued I may be, but my posture remains premier cru.