Saturday, September 11, 2004

The Lesson

I decided to try swing dancing. It looks like fun, and it seems like a classy, sassy thing to add to my many talents.

Unfortunately I have no rhythm.

I should have suspected my lack of rhythm long ago due my disinterest in music, and that horrible, horrible incident in highschool band. See below for the cliff notes on how the evening worked out.

The Lesson
The Setting: A local college which is offering a none-too-cheap swing class once a week.

The Characters:
The Instructor - A tall, clearly gay man with a metal belt and cowboy boots. Exacting, apathetic of gaining the admiration of his students and orders formations with a booming voice.
The Partner - The fiance. Six feet four inches. Large. Clumsy. Tee-shirt, baggy pants and overdue for a shave.
The Dame - Played by herself. Curvy, dark and more accustomed to chatting in coffee houses than any sort of dancing.

After a solid 20 minutes of chanting "1 and 2; 3 and 4; rock - step" while fumbling with supposedly simple dance steps, The Instructor approaches the Dame and the Partner. He shoves their hands down and apart saying "No no no... like this. ONE and two. THREE and four, little step backwards and step forward again." He sighs and shakes his head at the unfortunate couple - white and straight, with not a rhythmic bone between them.

The Partner and Dame clasp hands again and desperately try to mimic The Instructor, who is watching closely. The Instructor shakes his head again and moves on, disgusted.

Stage goes dark - end scene one.

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