,”One-two-cha-cha-cha. And so my ballroom dancing class began.
Go ahead, start the belittling, question my manhood and snicker to yourself. But my reasons for learning to dance trump all of your condescending looks.
First off, I'm a senior and while most of my friends search for jobs (real careers, not flipping burgers for a summer), a few of them are already engaged—like, to be married. Usually when I get a second date, I'm doing pretty well.
The harsh reality of life after college arrives simultaneously with a decade of weddings. Mark my words: by the time you're 25, you will have attended more than a dozen weddings. And weddings mean wedding receptions.
Let's be honest—the one knockout bridesmaid is the only thing that keeps 85 percent of males awake at the actual ceremony. The real fun starts at the hotel ballroom, rented-out art museum or backroom bar, whatever fits the budget.
I signed up for a seven-week beginner course through Milwaukee County Recreation (only $20) for the sole purpose of tearing up the dance floor at reception after reception. Stepping out of my personal comfort zone, I could also further round my personality.
I expected a crash course in the cha-cha, waltz, Foxtrot and the tango. If you've ever seen Al Pacino in "Scent of a Woman," you'd want to tango too. If you've ever seen "Wedding Crashers," you'd know men that can dance need to beat women off with a stick.
My previous experience leaves something to be desired. At high school dances, a buddy and I did a routine to the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive." My most recent performances run the gamut concerning an audience; either at a bar with some science involved or sliding across my bedroom floor in my boxers.
In fact, I use more phrases to talk about dancing—getting down, cutting a rug, spanking the planks, shaking what my momma gave me—than actually finding the dance floor.
The dance class should render me somewhat competent with actual moves. It also forces my dance partner and friend to attempt to cure my syndrome called "two left feet," which is pretty self-explanatory.
I noticed that my fellow classmates range in age and purpose for taking the class. Couples in their mid-20s try to get a few dances down for their wedding. Older folks do it for the exercise. It appeared as if one couple was trying to save their marriage.
After 15 minutes, the I-can't-believe-you-dragged-me-here look left the faces of every male in the room to be replaced by genuine effort. Truthfully gents, an attempt works wonders.
Even if you don't get it just right, women might still think it's cute because girls like that stuff.
My first class consisted of me cursing under my breath after a misstep, desperate pleas to slow the music down and ear-to-ear grins after transitioning successfully between steps. A great source of pride came to my partner and me as the instructor complimented our quick learning, which only encouraged us further.
The class I chose is only one of the offerings by the county recreation department. If ballroom dancing doesn't interest you, maybe salsa and meringue, swing, African or tap will. As I see it, dancing is like riding a bike. Once learning how, one never forgets. I may not be able to dip my wife at 80, but I will always have the steps. I hope this spurs a few more wedding invites my way because I'll be ready for them, the receptions at least.
One-two-cha-cha-cha.
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