So I'm taking a ballroom dancing class at the Boston Center for Adult Education. I shirked that particular duty when I was 13 and now I'm determined to sway and shimmy with the best of them. Also, there is no describing my love for "Strictly Ballroom." Not that I was expecting sequins and poofy feather skirts at the first class, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't keeping an eye out for a potential Paul Mercurio standin. There is one cute guy, but I think he's gay (and he didn't get to be spanked by Dana Delaney in "Exit to Eden.")
I digress.
The class felt a lot like those awkward middle school dances, where all the boys huddle along one wall and the girls along the opposite wall. Predictably, I was the only single girl there--everyone else came with a partner. I had a moment of empathy with Charlotte on Sex and the City, because she had the same experience after her divorce from Trey.
My wonderful friend Danielle tried to pawn her husband off on me so I wouldn't be alone, but I'm not that mean. I ended up getting the instructor as a partner and considering the fact that he was the only man in the room who wasn't tripping/stumbling/stepping on their partner's feet, I think I got the better end of the deal. That made it easy to look past his bad breath and the fact that his fly was halfway down (I would have told him but it seemed like he'd be MORE embarassed by a strange woman sharing that bit of information than by discovering it himself next time he went to the bathroom). Plus, he was a great dance partner. We glided. We swayed. We outshone all the other newbies in the room. Bring on the sequins, I say.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment