This past weekend I signed up for a private ballroom dance lesson. Let’s check that right off the bucket list.
I’ve always loved to dance and oddly enough the first song I fell in love with was “Let Me Entertain You” from the striptease move “Gypsy” when I was just eight years old. I sang the heck out of that song and practiced a lot of dance moves with it too. I wonder how bizarre my family thought it was that I’d fallen in love with such a provocative song. Of course little “June” in the movie sang it when she was five in a white dress with a petticoat and patent leather shoes. Wait a minute, who let me watch “Gypsy” anyway? That wasn’t the all-girl Catholic school way.
I’ve loved dancing all my life and I’ve taken lessons in tap, jazz, ballet and acrobatics. The one thing I always pined for was ballroom dancing. I always wondered where those people learned to dance with one another. When I was in jazz class, I’d see advanced dancers carrying each other through the air. I always thought, “I want a little piece of that!”
Last week, I decided to put my thoughts into action after being inspired by “Dancing With the Stars.” If this TV show is so popular, they’re must be a way to go after this dream. I googled my way to ballroom dance instruction that looked reputable and I was on my way. On Friday, I had my first private ballroom dance lesson.
I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance with a guy who has exceptional rhythm. Although my husband is interested in learning ballroom, I wanted to take the first class alone. My husband’s ability to dance-“not” is well documented in my show.
To say that I didn’t know how to dress for ballroom dancing instruction is an understatement. Growing up Catholic makes me always reach for plaid. Sure enough, I arrived in a plaid shirt, goofy work-out pants and yesterday’s horrible black heels. My ballroom dance instructor, “Cinnamon” must have taken lessons in poker face because as odd as I looked he kept a straight face. Not easy to do for a black ultra-cool black dude with shades and bling that looked like he could have graced the cover of Ebony Magazine. When we met he didn’t crack a smile. I could read the “Oh my god, is this the best they can give me” look that was written all over his face. When we turned to look in the mirror, the sight was so bizarre I wanted to make it better by promising to wear a Cat Woman suit the next week. Poor Cinnamon - I knew I’d make it up to him with my ability to “catch on.”
Cinnamon asked me what type of music I liked. I’m thinking “oldies”and “ Lady Gaga”. I refused to let my teeny bopper mentality show and I blurted out “Usher.” Ha! I remember being introduced on stage to an Usher song that really made me want to dance. That counts!
The lesson was awesome. Dancing with a man who has rhythm (a black man who has rhythm – super extra bonus points!) was a dream. It was everything I could imagine – fun, challenging and yet effortless. Dancing on a cloud is a just description. As Cinnamon danced he started to smile and repeatedly said “Thank You” as I picked up his moves after only one demonstration. And best of all, he gave me the ultimate black dancer’s compliment, “Sally, you’ve a got a little black in you.” Knock me over with feather! I’d been working for a compliment like that since Gypsy Rose Lee.
I left the ballroom lesson feeling a true sense of accomplishment. But like all dreams, it’s time to wake up. My next dancing lesson includes a challenging (challenged?) and adorable partner – my husband Bert. Cinnamon, I bet you thought you’d seen everything when I arrived in my goofy plaid shirt and Capri pajama-like pants. There’s another half to this cool-bound dance lady. You better work on that poker face. You’re gonna need it!
