A perfect end to a good week.

Tonight, I learned how to swing dance. Now imagine an overweight, graceless, off-balance, embarrassed, giggly young woman attempting to swing dance, and you’ll have my last couple of hours.

It was fuggin’ great.

Mae and I went, so we won’t have to just stand around and bop like idiots at the formal my floor is throwing at the end of the month. Instead, we can awkwardly swing dance like idiots.

We went together, planning to dance together, with Mae learning the leading parts, and me doing the twirling, but, as is par at Rose, there would have been a surplus of males, had Mae and I teamed up. Exactly two extra guys. So Mae and I got partners. Needless to say, my partner was a better dancer than I was, but since he seemed more charmed than annoyed with my embarrassed giggling and flustered manner, things went fairly well.

It’s amazing how I manage to confuse myself. We learned a basic step (what you revert to between the fancier moves), two girl turns, a guy turn, the “cuddle”, and a dip. The lead-ins, or “signals”, or whatever, for each are fairly obvious without any conversation, and yet, when he held up my right arm for one of the girl turns, I just sorta stared at it, then ended up doing the other turn, in the wrong way. Geez. Luckily, we had two hours, and I managed to become moderately proficient before I was asked to dance with a guy who had just come in ten minutes before the end of the session who made me look like a professional.

When we left, I complained to Mae that neither of us had learned the lead part, and she informed me that her partner, rather than having simply two left feet (which Mae has), seemed to be stumbling around on peg legs. She said she learned the lead parts pretty damn well since she was guiding herself through all of the girl parts. So it looks like we’re on for fun at the formal.

Given my and Mae’s general goofiness, we’ll probably go to the formal (her in formal get-up, me in, at best, slacks, since I have nothing else) and swing dance to every damn song we can, rap, rock, slow, what-the-hell-ever. Well, if I can even convince her to dance more than a couple songs. Her caloric intake is very low because of her allergies and other dietary limitations, and so she simply doesn’t have the energy to dance for hours. But I may be able to rope a guy in to cut a rug with me, when she tires out, depending on who’s present.

Now I just have to practice, since I know my feet will rapidly forget how to work correctly.