So We Think We Can Dance

It began with a date night last May. We headed to the movies and watched Mad Hot Ballroom and like a million other movie goers, got the ingenious idea to start learning ballroom dance. God knows, as late thirtysomethings we needed the exercise. And we were also looking to ignite some extra romance in our marriage. Over the last eight years, we've never been short on affection and probably could prove hugging, snuggling and handholding to be a type of triathalon. But romance, the new summer love kind, can become a slave to time. Unless you're willing to take proper action.

Cut to 3rd Street Dance Studio. Robert and I signed up for Ballroom 1 and spent last fall tracing the basic steps of Waltz, Tango, and Foxtrot. It was hard keeping our arms up for a straight hour. Our muscles actually trembled and twitched, but we held each other up literally like a mountain over an active faultline. Even so, the romance and connection we sought came springing back as we stumbled cheek to cheek. Our weekly class brought belly laughs, dreamy gazes, and firmer arm muscles into our relationship. Now we've graduated into Ballroom 2, and our waltz is actually starting to look like a waltz. We've discovered we like rumba despite our resistant hips (that seem to be relaxing more every week).

Last week we had a substitute teacher, Adam from Spain who must have been a professional dancer at Blackpoole. In a demonstration dance he swept me literally off my feet and spun me around like a flying rag doll. In that moment I knew we had been catapulted into "AP Dance Class." He hovered within inches of us while we danced, moving every part of our bodies like a chiropractor--I think he relocated three of my ribs while fixing my frame. As we finally started to swirl around the dance floor, he's tells me to "Grow, grow! You must GROW." And I'm thinking, "if I knew how to grow, I wouldn't be 5 foot 2!" Beads of sweat rolled down our faces after the first seven minutes of class. Robert and I couldn't stop giggling when he'd show us some complicated routine one time "1,2, and THREE...chasse and turn and...square root of 15 and turn..." I felt like I was taking a class with the American Ballet Theater. Instead of staying for the after class practice, we drove home to tend to our aching feet, snuggle on the sofa and watch a movie. Torture and all we found ourselves liking him, and his obsessive attention to technique. He taught us how to float across the floor, and it was an incredible feeling even for a brief moment--to hold hands, defy gravity, get lost in a loving gaze and the melody of a beautiful song.