Our third ballroom dancing lesson left us with the illusion that we might someday master this skill. There were times, perhaps perceptible only by us, that we were actually dancing as a couple, rather than answering a casting call for extras in the next George Romero movie. (Note to George: If you ever decide that Ballroom Dance of the Dead is a title that piques your imagination, have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch, bubbie.)
Bernadette, our ever-patient instructor, was not content to let us rest on our laurels, as she continued to throw variations into the almost-comfortable basic steps we’d been practicing. We added the promenade to the tango and the cha-cha. If you’re unfamiliar with that move, let me assure you guys that it’s not one that you want to do in public in Midland, Texas without a female partner. However, when you have a lovely person of the distaff persuasion mirroring your moves, it evokes Fred/Ginger imagery (well, in the way that a Mad Magazine cover might evoke Time Magazine imagery).
I also had a revelation on Friday evening: dance lessons are for the guys. Oh, the women show up in order to make us be there, and to develop a passing familiarity with the steps, but they really don’t have to learn anything because no matter what happens — and it’s very important to understand this — it’s all our fault.
The fact that it took me three lessons to figure this out proves that I never stood a chance. Never did, and never will.
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This evolks the similar thought: If a man speaks and there is no woman to hear, is he still wrong???
Gregg, you’re on you’re own with that one, amigo…I have it on good authority that a few ladies read these posts! 😉
Ditto my prior dance comments
Hang in there, the tassle is worth the hassle.
Gene, even my newfound understanding of my place in life hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm for mastering this new challenge.
But, I’m pretty sure we don’t get tassles.
You’ve made a very important insight into relationships through dancing, Eric.
“It’s all our fault.” It’s always our fault. Like Gregg said, we’re still wrong even if she doesn’t hear us (meaning muttering under our breath doesn’t count, even if it makes us feel better).
But stick with it! Dancing is like a lot of physical skills, there’s people who are talented and then there’s people who are competent (thanks to hours of grueling practice). Competent dancers are like competent martial artists. They’re still visually stunning to the average observer
You’ll do fine, even if you have to slog through it.
Taking dance lessons at the college in anticipation of my nuptials in 1976, I was surprised to learn that Firefall’s “You are the woman (that I always dreamed of)” is a cha-cha tune.
Even though many years have passed, whenever I hear that song I always hear “one, two, cha-cha-cha” all the way through it. It’s insidious.
I went on the step on my new mother-in-law’s toes at the reception, to some waltz tune.
The highlight that I remember about the reception was holding on to my bride, both feet firmly planted on the floor, swaying to Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” Who needs dance lessons?
One of the nice things about being single again is not having to pretend I like (or know how) to dance.
And, I have the means to pay some young buck to spin my gal around the floor, should the need arise.
Nevertheless, you are my hero, Eric.
Even though she may let you think you won the marriage lottery, so did YLB. Congratulations to you both.
From Americus, Georgia (temporarily),
“Even though she may let you think you won the marriage lottery, so did YLB”
She knows she did!!
Hey…what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be slaving over a hot keyboard!
One final familial anecdote about dancing.
My son gradulated cum laude from college last year with a degree in linguistics (German). His last semester he almost had a perfect 4.00 average. He was chagrined that he missed it by such a narrow margin. He said if he had just cracked that one book for 30 minutes he would have gotten an A in that class also.
He was taking a heavy senior-level class load. Stuff like Econ, a couple of languages, psych, Elementary Education.
I asked him what class he got the A minus in, and was prepared to console him, based on the effort he put into all his other classes and that he in fact got an A- after all in that one class.
He replied, “Ballroom dancing.”
It was a great laugh we shared, and it instantly became part of his own family legend. He’s a chip off the old stumbling block.
‘Atsa my boy!
Good to hear from you both. Abbye’s got the best parents. How is she, anyway?
Did I tell you that my teammates from Atlanta all went home last week, and left me in Americus with no rental car? No? Since May is national bike month, I bought a bicycle at Walmart and have ridden it every day, since the 17th. Last Sunday I rode over to Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, GA (10 miles, thought I was gonna die), to hear Jimmy Carter teach Sunday School (he is not ordained to preach from the pulpit).
He told the Gospel loud and clear: Salvation is through God’s grace by faith alone in Jesus Christ, not by works or following the works-based rules imposed by the religious establishment. He called it a lesson of freedom in Christ, and used verses from Galatians 5.
Can’t dislike a guy that loves the Lord like that, and tells it plain.
Got a ride home with some Boy Scouts from Lakeland Florida, and got a picture with Jimmy and Rosalyn. If the link works, you got it.
Got to find my marbles. Tootles.
…chip off the old stumbling block…
Heh. I can empathize with your son. Fortunately, I think our class is pass/fail, and if our check clears, we pass!
Abbye’s doing pretty well; thanks for asking. She’s still not getting her coat back like we’d hoped, but that’s probably a blessing in this heat.
Keep after the cycling…it’s great exercise, saves gas, and the chicks dig it! 😉
I just wish Jimmy Carter had focused on Sunday School instead of politics. He’s much easier to like as a fellow Baptist than as a bumbling President and UN…well, let’s don’t go there, shall we?