LAST SATURDAY night, I went to see "The Nutcracker." It was exactly 40 years after the first time I sat in those red velvet seats at the Academy of Music, but this 50-year-old woman saw the same magic (and felt the same butterflies) as the fourth-grader inside her. Life is made up of many things, but the best ones conjure memories of places and times that no longer exist. "The Nutcracker" does that for me, sending me back decades to my first official date with my first (and best) love: Dad.
That thought triggered another: There were an awful lot of men in the audience. While I noticed a good number of fathers with their fancy-dress princesses, there were also a bunch of younger guys with their girlfriends/wives/Match.com prospects. Which led me to question whether they were there, like I was, because they loved watching ladies in white tulle tiptoe across the stage under artificial snow or - more likely - that they were strong-armed into going to the ballet. Because, although most men like to see scantily clad ladies dancing in tulle, I'm guessing that Tchaikovsky isn't tops on the playlist.