BF and I went for our first salsa lesson last night at the Dance Junxion in Rosebank. I think this is going to be harder than I thought. I’m not one of those rhythmic clowns who can’t hear a beat, let alone do three steps on the spot with a clap in between. In fact, I’ve danced for the better part of my life – albeit partner dancing wasn’t my area of expertise. Contemporary dancing was, and I still show off my moves to BF after a few glasses of wine in the kitchen on a Friday night. There ’aint nothing like Dutch courage to get your flirt on.
Freedom, our instructor for the next eight weeks, introduced us to the class – hands-free mic in place and bright smile on face. And if we continue at the pace he relentlessly pushed us through, we’ll all be professionals in two months’ time.
It was very confusing in the beginning, especially for BF, muttering, “This oak can’t count.” Freedom: “One and five. One and five. Now, one, two, three; five and seven. One, two, three; five and seven.” What?!
But when a few other dimwits looked confused, Freedom explained that he could in fact count, and that “four” was a pause and “and” was six. “Ooooh!” the cattle of a class answered.
Note for next time: wear smaller heels. I felt like my calves were screaming at the end of the class – “Take those shoes off! We’re on fire!”
Hopefully next time I’ll pick the moves up faster and some of the other guys I have to dance with brush their teeth.
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