In the six months since I last posted anything to this blog, I have been attempting to learn to swing dance. After two sublime adventures at the even more sublime Spanish Ballroom at Glen Echo Park in Maryland, I decided to try the swing dance lesson at The Dance Space on West Broad Street, near the legendary Mekong restaurant. What follows, Gentle Reader, is the History of that event, titled:
Watch Your Step!
Being the Unexpurgated History of Two Sidetracked Swing Dancers and How They Navigated Their Remarkable Adventures on West Broad Street
Chapter the First
In which our Heroine discovers a somewhat unhappy mix-up
As part of my campaign to learn how to swing dance, I finally talked my friend Ginny, who is glamorous and savvy and whom I think of as The Rich Man's Fran Drescher, into going with me to The Dance Space. We had dinner at Mekong, and then went upstairs to the 7:30 Lindy Hop lesson. When we walked in, Ginny's Drescher-esque voice intoned, "I never knew Lindy was so slow." And I looked at the floor and said, "It isn't. This is a Tango lesson." I asked the people at the door what was going on, and they said, "Oh,we decided to mix it up tonight." I wasn't happy, but Ginny and I stayed for the lesson and for the dance afterward, which was a mix of swing and ballroom.
Chapter the Second
In which we learn of a previous misunderstanding that gave rise to the current one
The expert ballroom and swing dancers who run The Dance Space (which is modest to down-at-the-heels, but kind of nice, too, in a high-school-dance sort of way) have forgotten that a beginner can absorb maybe - at most - 5 new moves per event. If you have to learn two new dances to participate, you are overloaded after the first hour. Slack-jawed but determined, Ginny and I pressed on, in spite of one more challenge.
Chapter the Third
In which our Heroine stumbles upon the perfect place for boys who have trouble meeting girls
A swing/ballroom dance is exactly like a middle school sock hop -- if everyone at the sock hop has a 401K and/or an AARP membership. There are far more girls than boys, and most of the girls are standing around not dancing. At this event, the AARP contingent was fairly strong, and thank heaven. The old men were the only ones who (1) knew to ask other girls to dance and (2) knew how to dance in the first place). During the lesson, Ginny and I took turns being the boy. This has possibly made me a WORSE dancer. Henceforth, I can now be counted on to forget if I start on my left or my right because I can't remember if I am a boy or a girl this time. (Note to self: Remind long-distance love interest to pack his shin-guards when we go to the Spanish Ballroom next month.)
Chapter the Fourth
In which our Heroine reflects upon her less-than-joyful adolescence only to say "The hell with it" and take matters into her own hands
The "Couples Preferred" structure of the lesson set the tone for the dance, so - in another triumphant return to middle school - Ginny and I and roughly a dozen other girls sat around on folding chairs while NOBODY asked us to dance. I finally addressed the group of girls at large, "Well, ladies, I think the situation here is 'Dance with a girl, or don't dance.'" The less-confident ones began chattering and chanting, "I can't lead! I can't lead!" But Ginny and I and a couple of other risk-takers danced with each other, alternating taking the lead, with a minimum of injuries.
Chapter the Fifth
In which a surprise dance partner appears; happily, his upper arm does not
Exactly one week earlier, I had gone to a party where a most charming young artist told a tale so gruesome that I literally grew weak in the knees, dizzy, and nauseated. I went home shortly afterward. It was a perversely violent account of his being burned with a cattle brand while pledging a fraternity. Well, in a picaresque plot-twist and return-of-a-colorful-minor-character worthy of Candide or Tom Jones or Moll Flanders, I looked across the floor of The Dance Space, and there he was: the cattle-branded fellow from the party one week ago. At any rate, it turns out that he and his wife are absolutely great dancers. I danced with him several times, scrupulously avoiding any moves that might carry the risk of accidentally making his shirt sleeve fly up to reveal the cattle brand on his left arm. That was helpful.
Chapter the Last
In which the History is at last concluded
After the dance, Ginny and I went to the Jefferson Hotel for a drink. We resolved to go to the Dance Space again, and to drag our own partners this time. She is bringing her neighbor, Steve. I am bringing my dear old friend Chris. I have known Chris for 24 years and have been trying to find him a girlfriend for at LEAST that long. This way, we can all participate more, and who knows? Ginny and Chris might end up dancing with each other.
Life Lessons:
1. Lonely guys will do well at The Dance Space, but lonely girls will only feel more so
2. The bad news: life changes very little after middle school. The good news: you do.
3. It is better to be ACTIVELY embarrassed stepping on your girlfriend's foot on the dance floor than to be PASSIVELY embarrassed as you sit around on a metal chair hoping for a chance to step on a boy's foot.
4. You might conclude that you know the character of a person just because he told you about being branded, but you would be wrong.
5. You would be wrong to draw similar conclusions about The Dance Space, which is actually charming in its own way, and serves a vital function.
6. Screw the feminist propaganda about Ginger Rogers having it tough because she was going backward in high heels. In dancing, it is more challenging to lead. Period.
7. Step up, big guy! Be a man! Go to The Dance Space and ask someone to dance already!
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