DH and I went to another dance party on Thursday. This one was special, as it was to be our first floor show. We practiced for weeks, a snappy little swing routine to Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love". We even threw in an extra lesson, just to polish. We had that routine down cold, including the fancy kicks at beginning and end.
Long story short- we blew it. We couldn't find the rhythm with a magnifying glass, despite our hours of practice. We shuffled about in the center of the floor, everyone looking at us and cheering us on gamely, me chanting out the rhythm, Wayne doing the best he could, and all of us wishing it was all over. The DJ turned down the music mercifully but we continued through grimly to the end of the routine.
It was painful, but finished. The upside is that it can only get better from there.
I leave you with a super catchy song from the dance party, by a European artist called Roisin Murphy. This is a samba; a dance that Wayne and I don't know yet, but our hips automatically want to respond to. Can you ignore this rhythm?
1 comment:
Isn't that the way it always goes. But in reality, it probably wasn't as bad as you thought. We are always harder on ourselves than we need to be.
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