Over the summer, I purchased a deal whereby I received a 6 month membership to a local dance studio. Additionally, I also received 10 lessons. This was all well and good until I looked at the print out of the coupon and realized I had to use them by 12/31. And it was 12/9 when I realized this. So you can bet I got busy looking at their schedule and planning which classes I would attend. I selected (mainly because I only have three weeks with a holiday thrown in) the following: waltz, salsa, bachata, tango, merengue and east coase swing. Coupled with the fact that I am already an experience shagger, and I have latin dancing in my past (next time you see daddy stooge, ask him about his best friend Guntar who didn't kick him out of latin dance class for being an exceptionally bad dancer...hey, at least I come by it honestly), I just assumed I'd be a professional at all these dances I have no prior experience with. However, after only one class, I realized how wrong I was.
I arrived last night with day dreams of a smokin' hot dancing man who would swivel his hips at me and be wearing a just unbuttoned enough blouse for me to get a sneak peak at his bulging pectorals. Let's just say his hips didn't quite swivel (however, I am pretty sure if they did swivel, it would be in my direction so that's a plus) and although his shirt was unbuttoned just right, his pectorals weren't bulging to the degree I prefer. But, this is all a non-issue because I was there to learn, NOT pick up sexay dancing men with swiveling hips. Which was good news since the man I somehow ended up dancing with the most was not attractive, had tinier hips than me, and also had smaller feet than me (this is important to note). He walked into the studio like he owned the place. He told us he was new to the area and couldn't wait to start dancing again. He was very concerned about the level of teaching as he had a bronze medal (I know because he told us several times) in the Waltz. Now, I don't know really what a bronze medal in the Waltz means, but I'm pretty sure since the word beginner is included in the name of this class, it wasn't for anyone who had ever come close to winning a medal or badge of any type in the Waltz. The good news is, he got what he bargained for, and deserved, when he kept getting paired up with me.
Because I am secretly a princess, waltzing should come naturally to me. It doesn't. We learned the basic box step, and the left turn box step, and the right turn box step and something else but I can't remember because I was still trying to get my box right. I have never in my life so often stumbled over my two left feet, or even thought that I had two left feet for that matter. Because he was a pro, he wanted to be helpful and give me tips to better my waltz. I typically like a helper, but not this kind of helper. It was actually pretty amusing to me that everytime he gave me a helpful hint, it would result in me stepping on his tiny feet. My tennis shoes are pretty small and they dwarfed his already tiny dancing shoes. It's probably good to note that in addition to being all around tiny, he was also very tan (to match his medal, perhaps?) and reeked of stale ciggarettes. He was from Panama City which pretty much explains it all. Like Daytona, but better.
At the end, the teacher asked me to dance so I could practice my moves. I told him I'd had enough boxing and was ready to be twirled. He reminded me that yes, the Waltz is the Disney princess dance but if those cartoons had been real women, they too would have had to learn to Waltz the good old fashioned way. And then, all of my dancing dreams came true when he decided I had had enough practice and...drum roll please...HE TWIRLED ME!! And I felt exactly like Beauty and the Beast. It was exhilirating! I loved it! It was like my very own Dancing With the Stars and I was Bristol and he was Max and even Bruno thought we were a perfect 10. And then, just like that, our dance was over. And I fell in a heap to the ground, exhausted. Even now, I.am.exhausted. it is true the Waltz is just a box step but holy crap. It's like a box covered in packing tape that you just cannot get open for the life of you. This dude, back in the 1700's described the ladies of Vienna as graceful in their Waltzing. Perhaps I need to go to Vienna and wear a corset. Because I'm pretty sure I wasn't graceful.
They say it takes two to tango. But it takes a winner to waltz. Booyah. Take that, England. oh but wait...it takes two to tango you say? ooo lah lah. i'll take two swiveling hips, please.
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