Tripping? the light fantastic

Tomorrow night, Ms Canada and I are off to a ballroom dancing lesson, just for fun.

This is in response to the appalling showing we made at Ms Canada’s work Christmas party where the Company supplied a “band” (basically a singer, a drummer, guitar player and a backing tape – you couldn’t tell when the real performers decided to pause) and a couple of annoyingly competent Arthur Murray dance instructors to teach us the basics.

If I tell you that after a few minutes we were forced to abandon our shoes in favour of keeping our toes intact, you’ll have some idea of our standard.

I’ve never been a fan of “dancing” as my generation practiced it. Just doing whatever you felt like seemed like a cop-out. I was never sure if I was doing it “right”. My parents’ generation had the ballroom stuff and while I was approaching puberty in the 60’s, there seemed to be a whole bunch of named dances with formal moves – the swim, froog, the Wat/Batusi, whatever. But suddenly it was “do your own thing”, leaving a whole generation of boomers basically embarrassing themselves on the dance floor prior to Disco Fever. Not that that wasn’t embarrassing too.

With a bit of luck, we’ll learn enough not to get toe damage if there’s any dancing at Ms Canada’s mothers 90th birthday party in a few months.



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