Tim and I had our first ballroom dancing lesson on Sunday, my ten-year anniversary present to him. We have both done some dance before -- I did a couple of years of ballroom and tap back in my Uni days, we had lessons for a while before our wedding, and Tim has done lessons in various other styles like jazz and is currently doing hiphop. But it's been a while since we've done ballroom so we are starting with beginner lessons.
This week it was the tango, which neither of us have done before. It was fun; and although tango is only walking pace, you have to tense your muscles a fair bit so it was at least a little bit of exercise. There were maybe 20 people there, unfortunately with a few unattached females so the men felt honour-bound to occassionally share themselves around. Still, most of the time Tim and I were dancing together. The kids played their Nintendos happily and there was a platter of food so that kept them quiet.
Just before we left one woman was chatting to us about how we would probably argue a lot about dancing -- on remembering the steps I think -- and how she and her husband fight all the time about it. She was quite insistent about it. Tim and I smiled politely but with inward scoffing. We don't really argue about anything, let alone something like who remembered the steps correctly. Our "argument" might go something like:
1. Is that right? I thought it went like this.
2. Are you sure? I'm pretty sure it was this way.
1. Oh, ok. I can't really remember. We'll do it that way and check next week.
I had a bit of a problem with my shoes. I never wear heels anymore, even with dresses I wear boots with no heel. But ballroom calls for high heels. I wore some but my feet were sore by the time we walked into the studio, so I changed into the sneakers I had thoughtfully brought with me just in case. They totally didn't go with the dress, but at least I was comfortable. I need to buy some kind of compromise.