It took ten years and my in-laws to move nearby, but Mrs Magill and I went to dance lessons this past Friday night.
I took five years of cotillion in middle and high school mumbly-mumbly years ago. I really enjoy dancing when you have specific steps and moves. That way you don’t have to worry about what you’re doing next. Your feet just keep doing their box-step or bop-move, and you toss in your turns, and Bob’s your uncle, you’re dancing.
Club dancing (which Mrs. Magill always liked) is all free-style. You say, “Hey feet, what do you want to do?” Your feet reply, “I dunno. What do you want to do?” Next thing you know, your thumbs are sticking up, you’re biting you bottom lip, and you’re doing The White Guy. The Evil Little Voice in the back you your mind starts screaming, “What are you doing? You look like an idiot!” You’d love to shut that voice up, but trepanation would freak people out[sup]1[/sup], and you drove, so having sixteen gin and tonics is right out. So you’re doing The White Guy, the Evil Little Voice is screaming at you, and everyone in the club is laughing at you[sup]2[/sup]. In short, it’s not fun.
As I mentioned above, my In-Laws just moved nearby.[sup]3[/sup] And they offered free baby sitting. We can afford free. The YMCA also has started offering monthly dance classes. She asked me if I wanted to go.[sup]4[/sup] I didn’t want to appear to eager, lest she discover that the married some sort of geek.[sup]5[/sup], I said, “Sure, it might be fun.”
Friday night rolled around, and we got ready. Fang tried to rib me a bit. “You’re going dancing. You’re going dancing,” he would sing at me.
“Yes, I am,” I’d tell him, “and you know what? I might even kiss your mama to night, too.” That took the wind out of his sails.
Spike was a little more supportive. “You dancing today?”
“Yes, Mama and I are going dancing tonight.”
“My like dancing. I come with you?”
“No, Grammie’s coming over to take care of you.”
“Okay - My like Grammie.”
My Mother-in-Law showed up, and took the hand off. It went mostly smoothly. Squeaky was a little nervous, but decided that if his older brothers were excited that their grandmother was there, then he should be too. Mrs Magill and I got into the car, and took off.
We got to the Y and found the dance studio. There were four other couples there. Karen, the instructor told us that we were going to learn to swing. “All right, I call dibs on her,” the Little Evil Voice said. “Shut up,” I said. “What?” My wife said.
Karen showed us the basic swing step. For those playing at home, the swing is just like the shag, only you go side to side, rather than forward-back. Also, talking about both in mixed company can get you in serious trouble in certain countries. It is also important to know the difference, because when coming out of a turn, if you go forward (shag), and your partner goes to her right (swing), toes will get stepped on. It only happened six times. Lots of fun was had by all, as Mrs Magill kept trying to swing, and I kept trying to shag. I just need to practice to counteract mumbly-mumbly years of training to overcome the shagging and to start swinging.[sup]6[/sup]
In short, I heartily recommend taking a dance class. It beats the pants off your typical “date night” of dinner and a movie.
1 - And my wife has a rule about blood - it’s supposed to stay on the inside.
2 - They’re sneaky, though. They stop as soon as you turn around, but you know they’re laughing.
3 - Anyone want to buy a house in Garner? Their first buyer fell through.
4 - Again - I married The Most Wonderful Woman In The World.
5 - Not that the boxes of comic books, and that I have our Netflix instance queue full of Doctor Who and MST3K might have tipped her off. She might be okay with it, but why gamble? (see previous note).
6 - And you seemed like such nice people.
