You're a dancer. You love to dance tango and ballroom. You've got on your favorite light pink tights with your uniformed short skirt and a sparkle top. Your partner presents his hand to you. The sign of "Let's dance". The judges look up, pens in hand and the music starts. We glide across the floor, hips winding in figure eights. Your adrenaline is pumping, and you start to anticipate a big lift. You feel the music in your bones, the beat of the music aligns with your heart beat. The next thing you know, the music's over and you're feeling great. You and your partner did a spectacular job, your performance was flawless. You hit all the right moves at the right time, but for some reason halfway through around the lift the judges smiles fell to the floor. You still finished strong. You and your partner head to the separate changing rooms. You enter and look in the mirror. There it is. Blood. Blood! Blood is dripping down your thighs through your light colored tights. Your uniformed high skirt doesn't even begin to hide the blood. I want to cry and hide from embarrassment .