I could not have choreographed the play better. It had all the exquisite ingredients. The script was written and the actors casted in a whimsy. The dance had moves I did not predict, the steps designed for a cinderella were kind tight but worn down gracefully. And then it began…
So, I went square dancing, well… kinda of. Let’s just say, I tried but failed flat. I looked more like a fish out of the water then a dancer. Like oil and water. Like a nurse trying to write a software code. I fell flat on my stomach, figuratively.
I tried to follow the instructor’s direction but my feet weren’t having it. They seemed to have a mind of their own with their wires crossed somehow, going north when they should have gone south.
I kept trying to position them as much as I could, tiptoeing them around it to no avail. They weren’t speaking to me and I wasn’t going to argue with them either. Tried too hard and they had it with me.
I should have known better. To paraphrase it, I got bamboozled and the joke was on me for trying.
They were through being humiliated but took to the floor anyway. All I heard was, move this one first, then move that, twist to the left, twist to the right, jump, jump… stay close to your partner, follow his instructions…. huh, huh… wait, stop. @&%$… So many lingoes, so many words, so many movements that I was getting dizzy. Pairs, squares, line dancing… I didn’t dare utter a word as I was trying to escape my inner inability to talk to my feet and failed miserably. So, I gasped, resorting to an embarrassed nervous laugh that was more save face then anything else.
C’mon, they even have their own special attire, do they really thing I was going to get it? You got to dress the part if you want to fit in and the most interesting part of it all, I didn’t even come close. I was dressed as if I were going to the office and not square dancing. So, I retreated and defeated, I let the pros do their thing and resorted to do what I do best, take pictures.
I consider myself a pretty good dancer. There isn’t a dance I can’t master. My kind of good time at a party does not include any alcohol or anything of the kind. It just includes dancing.
I am known to go to a party to have a good time and my kind of good time implies drinking just enough coke, trust me I don’t make a habit of it, I don’t do sodas, to keep me going. All I am looking for is the caffeine in it to stay up long enough to enjoy the festivities and dance. When I say coke, I say coffee, red bull, tea…
I dance to live. I dance for pleasure. I dance because it feels great, not to say, lose some pounds. I dance because it is the only thing close to heaven.
I have the dance away conquering the usual suspects, pop dance, hip hop, merengue, salsa, why not try the non-conventional’s then, the likes of jazz, tap dance, square dancing?! So, when my friends said, Jared, mind you he lives and dies Square Dancing, is going to his dance thing, Dance Revolution, this weekend, would like to come? I immediately replied a resound, yes I am in.
They are calling it super moonwalking but I bet Michael Jackson would have called it, an enhancing version of my moonwalking. Nevertheless, this is amazing and I classify it as one of these things I will not be caught dead doing. Not because I couldn’t but because I just can’t!