Hold tight! We’re going dancing

IT wasn’t a resolution, it wasn’t a dream and it wasn’t something on my radar, but at the urging of friends we joined them in going to our first ballroom dancing class.

Now I don’t watch ‘Dancing with the Stars’ and I never got into ‘Strictly’ so I can’t claim that either was an impetus. I knew himself would have no interest so I anticipated his list of excuses not to get involved – the nominated night clashed with his football commitments, he is up to his eyes with work and, as much as he likes to keep in-step with me, dancing is another thing altogether. Still he does like a challenge, he is good at stepping out of his comfort zone and when I pointed out that his football commitments go beyond just one night, he conceded. Tuesday night was to be dancing night!

So the four of us turn up; three giddy, one bemused. However his interest is piqued when he sees 80 people ahead of us in the queue to register; there is more to this dancing lark than meets the eye. As we snake through the line I notice people holding hands. I deduce that we are surrounded by people on the cusp of marriage or more specifically on the eve of their wedding dance. But I am mistaken. After being led into the hall, we are asked by two lady dance-instructors to spread into a big circle and one by one to shout out our names. Why we have to do this, I do not know but it does give me opportunity to weigh up the competition; all ages, all stages and all statuses are present. We blend in just fine; we don’t even have to hold hands.

Then they separate the men from the women. This is a bit disconcerting. As the men face the women and the women face the men, the two attractive lady-instructors teach our men how to dance. This is a bit disconcerting too. By the time they finish, we women are ready to reclaim our men. But we are not allowed. Instead we must dance with a partner we don’t know. Why we have to do this, I do not know but the upshot is that on a Tuesday night I find myself in the arms of a stranger making the kind of small-talk I haven’t uttered in decades. Equally I am aware of himself in the arms of a stranger making the kind of small talk he hasn’t uttered his whole life. Whether it is out of fear or relief when we are finally reunited – we actually hold hands.

When it’s all over, we retire to our friends’ house for tea where we practice our new found moves on the kitchen floor. As himself leads me across the room it strikes me how being in-step with each other is one thing but dancing together is another thing entirely; it’s nice.

Next week – the Jive!