Dancers

Dancers greet each other with squeals and hugs, even if its only been a month since they've met. Sometimes they will climb on each other and do elaborate spins and convolutions right in the aisle. They wear warm up leggings and stretch into splits at intermission. Dancers are great audiences for other dancers, although it is a small competitive world. Their posture is scary good, shoulders back head up, eyes focused. They frighten store clerks and receptionists.
Dancers stride everywhere, even Wal-mart  and antique outlets. Their stomachs are flat and rippled, buttocks high, thighs smooth and bulging. No one will look at a dancer's feet if they can help it.
They define lithe, have remarkable memories, express themselves verbally better than you would think.
All picket lines should consist only of dancers. They travel constantly, bandage injuries, grimace and push on. They exude sensuality, but probably don't have as much sex as you think. Dedication to their art comes first, second and third. Only eight dancers in the world are rich. All the others scrimp and share appetizers.
There are no racial or ethnic or gender boundaries in dance companies. Only physical limitations factor into acceptance decisions. There are many more female than male dancers, but some of the women are strong enough to lift other women. A few can lift men. Dancers must diet and do strength training. I've never sat on a dancer's lap, but I bet it's a well maintained construction. An over enthusiastic dancer may damage your ribs with a hug. It's worth it.
Beat up ballet slippers are sculptures of sweat.
They cry a lot without necessarily being sad.
Alas, a dancer's career is usually short compared to actors and especially, writers and artists. They are the butterflies of culture. If they ever formed their own political party, I'd give them my vote.