Contra Indicated

Have I ever mentioned that, while I am under 5 feet tall, Larry happens to be OVER 6 feet?  It's true - there is exactly a 14-inch height differential between us.  As you can imagine, this has made for a 20-year relationship devoid of such activities as dancing, or even running, together.

Well, okay, we don't go running together because I am philosophically opposed to such masochistic behavior.  But, even if I weren't?  We wouldn't.

Didn't work for us...

 Over these 20-some years, we have made various pathetic attempts to keep our marriage lively and vibrant, mostly with walks (during which we discuss such stimulating topics as the kids, money, and other problems) and the oft-recommended date nights (ditto) - but recently we had pretty much given up on that, seeing as how they just don't seem to work for us.

 Do click on that link - it's classic.

So imagine my surprise yesterday when Larry, upon hearing my announcement that I was going to attend a local contra dance with free lessons before the main event, told me he was going also.

Let's make something perfectly clear: NEITHER of us is a dancer.  I can barely clap in time to music.  Yet, deep within me, there has always been a desire to learn some of these traditional dances; and happily, as I am turning 50 this year, I seem to be slowly acquiring the inestimable gift of  being incapable of embarrassment. 

So, we went.  All the way from the parking lot, we discussed (well, I discussed, Larry listened - or not, who knows) whether or not we should really go.  You see, my PTSD was definitely kicking in.  The last time I had tried anything like this was in 7th grade gym class - for some reason we had a week dedicated to square dancing, during which I was forcibly partnered with Kevin Kashuba, who made funny faces behind my back.

That experience was, as you might expect, devastating to my 12-year-old psyche.  So we (I) decided that we would go in, see if the people looked intimidating (or like my long-lost 7th-grade nemesis), and  - if they did - pretend we had wandered in by mistake and leave.

No one was dressed like this.

End of story?  We stayed.  We danced (to the best of our abilities).  Prior to this experiment, I had confided to my one contra-dancing friend that I was nervous I'd mess up.  Her advice?  Keep moving!  Laugh!  Smile!  So I did that.  I believe I may even have come off as slightly manic.  By break time, 2 hours in, Larry and I were both soaked with sweat and exhausted.

Meanwhile, the older couples were still out on the dance floor, practicing a waltz that the obliging fiddlers were playing for them.

"Gosh," I said, loudly.  "Love to stay, but...uh...the kids need us!  Yup!"  and Larry and I staggered out to the parking lot, practically holding each other up.

Let's not even talk about how I feel this morning.  I understand my legs feeling ache-y, but my rib cage?  What's up with that?

In short, yesterday evening I had the most exercise AND the most fun I have had in YEARS.  Think about it - I spent the evening holding hands with a bunch of other people, swinging around in a circle, skipping back and forth, and (as directed) smiling and laughing.  Also?  Some twirling happened.  In short, I felt like a kid again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some sewing to do.


[Date night image: Cheaper Than Therapy]
[Costume image: The Reel Thing]
[Pattern image: Etsy]