En Pointe

A decade ago I took a date to a matinee performance of the New York City Ballet at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center - and the show turned out to be the audience. Little tiny girls wore pink tutus, sipped soda and held their mothers’ hands while cheering the airborne display on stage.

For many, it seemed to rivaled Christmas Day.

Sleek teenage girls, their hair in ponytails, all limbs and grace in clutches of three and four, were wide-eyed as the dancers defied Isaac Newton.

For me, the balletic spectacle, le grand jeté, was in the almost totally female crowd.

The date explained les saut de chats at length during which I opted for yet another $14.50 can of Heineken and packet of crisps.

At the ballet, it’s vital to keep one’s strength up and one’s wits about you because of the culture vultures at every turn. They’re an unforgiving cohort.