Dance 101
November 3, 2009 JerseyGrins
My husband and I are in a crisis mode because we are about to become empty-nesters. We sit in the family room, ponder, and polish off a couple of cool ones.
“I’ve heard that Serenity Lakes Adult Community has a great golf course. They even have a Seniors jazz band and couples bunco. What do you think—should we move?” Scott asks.
I’m a LOT younger than my hubby—by at least two years. “I think we should take the young-and-hip route instead,” I reply.
The next day Scott and I purchase matching Ed Hardy hoodies and low-rise Lucky jeans. I color my grays, sign up for Facebook, and slide on a toe ring.
“Hey, we should also think about taking ballroom dance lessons,” I say to Scott. “It’s good for our minds and bodies.” We had been watching “Dancing with the Stars” for weeks. I could just see Scott in his tails and me in a strappy chiffon peach number. Of course, I wouldn’t look quite the same as the sweet young things on TV. There might be extra flesh amidst the peach chiffon.
“Hey,” replies Scott. “Couldn’t I just do that colonoscopy you’ve been nagging me about?”
We end up at a ballroom studio nearby with spiffy new dance shoes on, ready for Lesson One. We know we can do this! After, people teach circus bears to dance. Why not us?
We start off learning a basic foxtrot, with B-B-B-Bing Crosby crooning “Harbor Lights” in the background. It’s going great! “Slow, slow quick-quick. . .” Scott whispers romantically in my ear.
Suddenly, our dance instructor is beside us, clapping his hands sharply in exasperation.
“No! You do not lead by grabbing the flesh on your wife’s back and pulling! Lead like this. Your whole body. And pull your carriage UP.”
We work on keeping our upper bodies “up.” Soon, we look like dancing bears, but with good posture.
We learn next how to navigate an outside turn.
“Again.” encourages the instructor. “Again.”
Our cool new dance shoes have footprints all over their tops. My pedicure is shot. But, we complete a perfect turn. Encouraged, we try it again. Halfway through, my hair gets caught in Scott’s watch band. I come to a screeching halt mid-turn and yelp.
I couldn’t make this stuff up.
The instructor comes running over to us and carefully untangles us. We pick up the shreds of our dignity, a few shreds of my hair, and continue.
Fourteen weeks later, Scott and I are in the thick of cha-cha lessons. The cha-cha dance is full of precision, passion, and attitude. The attitude I’ve got. Scott and I rename ourselves Edwardo and Chenise. I buy sparkly spiked red dance shoes, while Scott tries to grow a debonair mustache. I offer him my eyebrow pencil to help the mustache situation.
The cha-cha turn is a sharp pivot, completed in about one second. In the midst of “Bailamos” by Enrique Iglesias, Scott raises his arm to signal my turn. This move translates into a swift left hook to my jaw. We can hear the “whap!” all over the dance studio. The instructor runs over and checks for blood.
Scott and I both start laughing, because the Three Stooges couldn’t have orchestrated this any better. Then, he frowns, “You need to pay attention and follow my lead!”
“You call THAT a LEAD???” I toss back.
Week twenty-four. The samba. Edwardo and Chenise are still at it.
When it comes to dance lessons, my mother was right. She used to say, “Divorce no, murder yes.”
Entry Filed under: Dancing, Grins and Giggles and tagged: cha-cha cha!, Does Dancing Cause Divorce?, One two
1. michele mcbride&hellip | November 3, 2009 at 6:30 pm
loved it! I’m sure that you and your hubby make us look like puppets on strings!
2. wahstanaj&hellip | November 3, 2009 at 6:36 pm
Thanks Michele!
No, we really do look like dancing bears. But, the thing is, we’re having fun…and it’s all true…my hair getting pulled, the sock in the jaw….