Yes, I said yes to a Dancing with the Celebrities of (insert your town here)... I guess I was a target, because I never back down from a challenge, unless it includes something with extreme heights and sharp pointy thingies.
I watched Dancing with The Stars, I was a supreme couch critic and arm chair analyzer of Kate Gosselin's Bride of Frankenstein arms and David Hasselhoff's -am -I still-sexy-desperation....no problem, I'm am so much better than those posers...hah!
Can you dance? Sure ( I think) although, truth be told I was a teenager in the 70's and no one touched each other when they danced , let alone LOOKED at each other...yeah I can dance, like a white girl to a back beat.
Ballroom dancing? What's so hard about that...ballrooms are big, I'll have plenty of room. Eat my fairy dust, wimps.
I would like to say right now, that I completely relied on the notion that I can find the beat in a song and also carry the DNA of Mamie, my grandmother, who danced with Ray Bolger (the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz) and was a flapper and tap dancer extraordinaire...perhaps the best way to meet a challenge is to have such blind ignorance that you can't fear a failure you don't know…are you followin' me here camera guy?
I was partnered with a pro competitor/ winner /real deal dancer and instructor...thank you baby Jesus...he had impeccable manners and I don't think I ever heard him swear...even when I stepped on his feet, clocked him in the eye with my elbow and put immeasurable stress on his groin during lifts.
He sized me up, quietly calculating how much leverage he would need for this little piggy on a lift, tried not to laugh at my "Amish gone Wild "dance shoes" and immediately dumbed down whatever grand dance routine he had planned for the event...and took my hand and walked with me across the floor and asked me if I could do a cartwheel..."Sure, I used to be a cheerleader, haven't done one in years, but I'm game..." what did I get myself into?
We rehearsed once or twice in December and then the holidays hit, and as always, when exposed to sweet family and snot nosed petri dish children, I got sick...the virus from hell... out of commission for 10 days…the event is March 12th, are we in the deep doo yet?
Once I could breathe without choking, I headed back to the studio...Bill, my instructor, was waiting with dance shoes for me, here's what you need, suede soles, closed toe and t-straps, because we are dancing the waltz...the waltz?...I wanted to cha cha, or samba and shake my hair around and look younger than my 54 years...the waltz?
Controlled, fluid, poetic...the waltz...words that would never describe me. W.T.H?
The waltz is a swan gliding on the pond...I am a terrier bouncing up and down on the couch tearing your underwear to shreds.
Which brings me back to Bill...he is the Dance Whisperer ... he makes you dance as you walk in the door, wears you down, puts you in a calm submissive state, then he trains you...just like a terrier...gives you chocolate after a good session. He is the Cesar Milan of the ballroom.
He is the leader, you follow...once again, he is the leader, you follow, alpha girl...what is happening to me, I am starting to like this follow business...what is happening? Do I have to relinquish my Xena Warrior Princess status card?
I am now plunging head first into the world of ballroom dance, I am scouring the videos on You Tube, learning words like developpe and promenade.
I am looking at ballgowns, which are Southern Beauty pageant gowns on steroids...and they are studded with rhinestones, dangling with beads, layered with tulle and mesh, lined with body suits (private parts contained) cupped to stand up "the girls" and tighter than sausage casing.
Oh and did I mention all the TOUCHING that goes on? Let's start with saying, I am not a touchy feely huggy kissy person, not even with my own family...this is my idea of payback for all the hugs I never gave in my life....partner dancing is all touch, connection so you can feel his lead...
When you dance the waltz with your partner, there isn't a place his hands don't go...nether regions, other regions, give me a region....it all gets touched and you have to get over it or go home....
Bill is slowly exposing all this to me as we train, trying to desensitize me, lowering shock values and keeping me focused...I still step on his feet...still.
I am finding my mind is struggling to remember the steps and combinations, they are getting jumbled up with what time is my son's soccer game, did I pack his cleats, did I pay the car insurance, when is the dog's vet appointment, did I get directions to that voice over gig, did I put sour cream on the grocery list for the enchiladas, is my husband's meeting today or tomorrow, one two three, one two three, step step step, spin...sh*t, where am I?
One day, as we are moving along quite well, he suggests that my husband come in and video tape us dancing... sure this would be grand, my husband can see the man responsible for my calm submissive state, and ask him how he does it....and I get to show him how well I can dance.
My husband tapes us, tells me I'm "brave for doing this", and leaves it at that....hmmmm...where's the "you are amazing honey"....I watch the video later, in horror...it’s the training film from hell in a big ass hand basket..I'm not brave, I'm an idiot and most of all a really BAD dancer....I cry, crawl into bed with a bag of carbohydrates in full fetal position and fall asleep with Nancy Grace on in the background...this is the stuff of nightmares.
Overnight, in my dreams, I am flying, spinning, rolling , weightless ... I am reminded of who I am and what I am capable of.
The next day, I walk in to the studio, Bill looks at me and says softly,"did you watch the video?" ... "Yes!," I exhale loudly "...and I had an epiphany.... I looked terrible, I had that deer in the headlights look and I'm so fat and I can't believe you aren't ready to quit this whole thing...BUT... I know what I need to do now... because up to this point I've been acting like a fish out of water, trying to catch up, an outsider...it's time to claim this or at least look like I'm claiming this...I am a dancer, and I'm going to start moving like one and acting like one and DANCING like one!"
Bill tilts his head and says, "Good, finally... let's get to work we only have a few more weeks...oh, and I brought you some herbs from my kitchen garden."
I am now thinking and acting like...a dancer...my posture is up, I find my self standing straighter all the time, I learn to use the floor to slide into moves, and I am not afraid to bend backwards, and I feel fluid, and pretty...as the song says, everything’s beautiful at the ballet.
Now I am bringing Bill chicken soup (made with his herbs) and we are swapping stories about childhood and laughing as we waltz...I can converse with him and dance at the same time, and possibly chew gum... I am a dancing fool savant.
In his wisdom he has selected a song we could rock the waltz to...a bit of r & b ... I Never Loved a Man by Aretha Franklin...we used the version from the movie The Commitments...I saw it one night on TV while I was practicing a spin, it felt like a good sign.
The choreography opened me up to the ability to perform...that I can do, been on stage singing since I was 14...I can work the crowd...now I have to do it without my voice...because, and let’s say this all together "I'm a dancer!".
I can't stop singing the song as we rehearse to it... Bill says I have to , you aren't allowed to sing on stage in a dance competition...Mr.Ballroom, you sure have a lot of rules.
I am now eating protein like it's the new bread...I am spinning every time I pass a mirror, I am exfoliating and using tanning towels on the parts not covered in my gown...which Bill has acquired for me "I take care of my girls.." he said , and he does.
It is periwinkle blue, studded in rhinestones all around the décolletage …with the most twirl-a-matic skirt ever, I feel like Ginger Rogers after downing two caramel macchiatos....twinkle toes and all that glows.
It is March 12th and we are dancing...all the training, all the foot crunches, all the time obsessing over a single step is here...in the lights on the floor with judges, the 65 bobby pins holding my hair in place, my family, God, my dance partner, and the specter of Mamie watching over me...I remind myself how all this is for charity and all these people have arrived here to have fun, dress like princesses and princes and raise money for those who couldn't imagine such a night...I am weightless, on air....
I can't even hear the crowd...I hear the three judges giving their critique and holding up paddles that read 9-10-9 Holy Moley....can't believe it... I look at Bill, he is beaming... another "celebrity" trained and exhibited, good showing, it's like a human Westminster Kennel Club moment, breed that dancer!
My fake tan held up through the sweat and makes my permanent flashed smile look Hollywood white...
I can't stop smiling...
even though my feet are on fire...
I see my husband, his face is telling me he can't believe I am the same bungling woman he videotaped weeks ago in the dance studio...he is amazed...
My son is relieved and not scarred for life...
The 65 bobby pins are shellacked and still in place...
I am thinking about a plate of pasta with sausage and tons of cheese on top...
an unexpected tear rolls down my face,
and now I know why,
I have to say goodbye to the big ballroom
the sparkly gown,
the false eyelashes,
the bling earrings,
but I don't say goodbye to Bill,
we will see each other soon,
I will be back,
I hear a salsa class is starting,
Sign me up,
because...
I
am
a
dancer!
...
