Why you won’t find me on the dance floor anytime soon

On Saturday I attended my first ever salsa-dancing lesson with Nate. I’m not a dancer, despite taking ballet as a child, but salsa is a dance I’ve always admired and I like to put myself in new, frightening situations. The kind of situations in which I end up looking and feeling absolutely ridiculous. The lesson was fairly fast paced, so while focusing on the moves my mind was racing. My thought process went a little like this:

I am clumsy… I am awkward… How am I supposed to remember the difference between a right and left turn? Maybe I can make it up and no one will notice…

I shouldn’t have worn Crocs. All the girls here are wearing heels, why am in Crocs?

That boy looks like Sanjaya from American Idol… He has the outfit, the smile, the hair… his curls are carelessly bouncing as he moves across the floor... Is Sanjaya his inspiration? I wonder if Nate noticed and is thinking the same thing...

I hope Nate doesn’t notice all the errors I am making. Maybe he will be distracted by the music and fail to notice my careful, elephant-like moves. Or, the fact I just turned right when I should have turned left.

I should have put on makeup. All the girls here are wearing makeup.

The dance instructor makes everything look so effortless, so simple… yet she seems to enjoy yelling out one command after another. Maybe she imagines herself as Captain Von trapp (from The Sound of Music). I’m sure if they gave her a whistle, she would take great pleasure in using it. Then, instead of a series of commands the lesson would be taught through a series of precise shrills and pitches.

My thoughts were jumbled and I made quite a few mistakes. Let’s just say, I did not take to the dance floor like a fish to water. It was more like a fish to oatmeal, or rice pudding even. I will take additional lessons in the future but my audition for So You Think You Can Dance will have to wait.