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Thursday, May 29, 2008

Let's Dance


In my quest to live life to the fullest and try new and challenging things, I decided to join my friend, Amy, in Salsa class on Thursday nights. Keep in mind, I have NEVER ever attended a dance class before in my life. No ballet twirls in Kindergarten, no jazz hands in elementary school, no craze-of-the-90's swing lessons. The closest I ever came to dance class was cheerleading in high school, which required little or no actual dance moves. This should be interesting.

On the afternoon of my first class, I asked Amy what I should wear to class. She said she was going to wear "something she could move in." "Don't worry about how you look," she said, "just be comfortable." "You don't even have to shower for class. There is no one in there to impress at all- It's just one little old Chinese man and the dance instructor." Famous. Last. Words.

Remembering what Amy said, I, in all my wisdom, headed to class that night in (ready for this) black spandex biker-pants and an ill-fitting, way too short, supremely unflattering, white tee- shirt. Something I can move in. Perfect. Class starts and it's just Amy, the instructor and me. Great! A semi-private lesson! I need all the help I can get in order to avoid looking like Elaine from Seinfeld. We're moving, we're doing a couple of slow easy steps, and I'm keeping up. So far so good. I can do this.

Enter the hottest guy alive. Now, I'm fixated on the instructor's feet and using every ounce of energy I have to learn the steps so I don't notice "Hot" walk in and start dancing behind me. Step out and back and hold and step and back and hold... Got it! "Okay," the instructor says, "now let's add music." The music starts and meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Amy is using every ounce of HER energy trying not to burst out laughing about the fact that "Brad Pitt" is dancing behind me. She finds the whole thing rather amusing, considering my spandex and the fact that she told me not to shower.

The music is playing and I'm keeping up. Okay, good, got it, I'm such a good dancer, ha, this is easy, I rock, I got this. And then, out of freakin' nowhere, the instructor goes headlong into this twirl-turn-step-twist-Rerun-from-What's Happening
sequence that seems to take place at warp speed and my head is spinning. I'm losing my balance...I'm dancing out of time...I'm lost...I'm confused... and all the while I'm making this contorted what-the-heck-is-he-doing squinty puzzled face.

Mercifully, the song ends after what seems like four or five years. I try to gather my composure and mumble in frustration and light amusement, "oh, I really stink at this!" "If it's any consolation," says a voice, "that was really hard and the music was going really fast." Huh? I look up to thank him for his kind words and realize the Son of God himself just spoke to me. In the words of Ralph Cramdon- hummana, hummana, hummana. I reply with something clever like, "thanks" and dizzily stumble away. I've always been smooth.

A few seconds later, four girls come running into class, obviously late for their weekly lesson. They have all been in this Salsa class before. They can all dance. They are all wearing jeans and heels and cute trendy shirts and no spandex at all. Amy...can also dance and sports no spandex. I look really stupid. Why do I have to be wearing spandex and Reebok's and looking stupid tonight? I could have done that on Tuesday night when I was home alone watching American Idol.

Eventually, I managed to follow along fairly well for a beginner and, as luck would have it, we girls got to rotate between dancing with the instructor and dancing with "Hot." Hot dances really well. Hot speaks quietly and smiles coyly and helps us all dance better. He is 6'1" and dressed in jeans and a fitted rocker-boy tee-shirt. He has longish-blondish hair and the face of a Calvin Klein model and holy crap I'm dancing with him. I'm dancing with Hot. Kill me now, I'm in spandex.

In the end...I actually learned some Salsa steps. I also learned that Hot's given name is Ian and that he will be back next week. Me too, Ian...me too. Amy was able to hold her laughter until we got to the parking garage. We cracked up and talked about how dreamy Hot was and what are the chances and wow and I bet he's an actor and he's coming back next week and yay! Amy is already planning the wedding. She thinks all the bridesmaids should wear spandex.