If the reader's credulity survives the initial trouncing in this tale of a housewife, mother of three, elevated suddenly to prima ballerinahood, a fatal fading of involvement takes place instantly as wife/mother faces her career problem. ""Why,"" demands a fierce friend, ""not?"" pursue that career, even have an affair, and it takes Francine less than twenty pages to bend furiously at the bar. Immediate success, with roses, applause and the little ones mewling at home, ""where's Mummy?"". Mummy is betimes wooed by a ballet big named Wing. Husband Frank, determined to reach Mummy while the TV dinners burn, takes ballet lessons, dons tights and hope onstage. It takes quite a bit of backstage fuss, with Frank turned away from the star's dressing room, before Mummy sees the light from home and fireside, and allemandes kitchenward. A totally foolish tale.