Hi there, guys and dolls! Are you all socially distancing yourself? I should hope so. Now yours truly comes from a slightly earlier time (ahem, I’m not telling my age, but if I was at my supreme freshness in the 50’s, well, you figure it out, brainiac…), and this blog tells all about that golden time in my life, and hopefully brings a little smile to your face, a lilt in your step, floats your boat and all that other stuff.
Anyhoo, this weekend I figured it was time to learn something new. As I flipped through the phone book, I came across “Dance Instructors.” Gasp! How romantic. The Tango! I will learn the tango, that’s what I’ll do.
By two o’clock, I had an instructor lined up at the ready. Would he be a dreamboat, or would he be sailing at half-mast? Oh, the anticipation! Would his afternoon lesson of footwork turn into my nighttime lesson of footsie work? A girl can dream, can’t she?
All started fine. That is, until we actually started dancing. Who knew I would actually have two left feet? Well, the instructor did, who unfortunately pointed it out oh, a few times. God love him, but he did keep trying, sigh. And much to the chagrin of the others in the class, as they went down in a heap over one not so swift move.
The flipside? (Yes, at one point we did get so twisted up someone ended up rolled up and over, landing on a keester, not telling who, okay, fine, it was me… and then him, and then me…again…). I think I discovered a new game. Maybe I’ll call it Twister….
Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more posts. And don’t forget to give my Poppy Cove Mysteries a try if you haven’t already.
Toodles, Barbara Jean