One, Two, Three

I would not say I am a dancer, but I am not a great lumbering beast on the dance floor. As long as I have a few drinks and am in the mood if you know what I mean I can be a complete dancing queen. I have even managed to become a moderately good salsa dancer due to a friend who dragged me to numerous salsa dancing clubs and injecting tequila into my system until I to could move just like the pros, or at least stumble around enough to fake it. However when it came for my fiancée to learn how to dance and in turn for me to brush up on my dancing I felt like I was the one with 6 left feet and no rhythm. A title my fiancée had proclaimed his.

After donning my dancing outfit, Mr. Rogue’s super man shirt (for courage), his flannel pants because I ALWAYS wear them dancing, and my snazzy high heels I was ready and dressed to impress. After removing to table from the kitchen and sweeping the floor in said outfit we were ready to tango, just kidding we are actually dancing to the waltz for our wedding dance, as if I would tango. I only wish it was that type of wedding where we could tango like Mortitia and Gomez Adams. Totally does not go with the theme I have had in my head since I was a little girl of my wedding dance. But I digress.

We could not dance, we could not even kind of dance. And not because Ms. Dancer was a bad teacher or because Mr. Rogue or I were not trying, it was me and my inability to follow. Stubborn, pigheaded, know-it-all me cannot drop command and just follow my partner. This is again a proven moment in which I would be better suited to the man’s role. Really this is the 20th century, why can’t we shake it up a bit and let the woman lead for the next 1000 years. I had to do all kind of exercising, INCLUDING dancing with my eyes shut (bullshit I can’t seeeeeeee). After the 5th lesson we were reasonably comfortable and I was getting better at the ‘turning off brain and just let the puppet master pull the strings’. Dancing is like that horrible game they make you play in team building exercises. Just shut your eyes and fall backwards, don’t worry the fat dude behind you that never bathes and has a zit on his nose that you have been fantasizing about popping with the slingshot you carried around in your back pocket when you were young will catch you. YEA RIGHT!