I was sitting inside a Starbucks with Hannah the other day, when I suddenly had a fantastic idea for a blog post. I remember pausing my music, taking my earbuds out, and annoyingly waving in her face to make her do the same. I remember telling her that I just read something that made me think of this perfect idea and what it was. I even remember opening a blank word document to begin jotting down my ideas. But do you know what I don’t remember? The idea. Of course.
I’ve been raking my brain for a day now trying to remember.
I even went back and tried to read everything I had been reading, hoping to
spark some faint memory. Nothing.
Yet, I feel really inspired to write right now. So, I thought
I’d talk about dancing. I want to write about it in general, so I can stop
telling each family member I speak to on the phone the exact same thing. But, I
also have a short funny story to add in at the end.
Anyways, dancing. Dancing is slowly becoming one of my
favorite things to do. I used to dance when I was younger but lost the talent shortly
after dropping out. Anyhow, I began taking the sabbath more seriously after
moving here. However, this meant that I suddenly had a very empty schedule on
Sundays. Back home, I would spend every Sunday over my grandma’s house, playing
cards and watching sports or doing homework. Since moving here, I began feeling
down on Sundays by my lack of plans. It wasn’t until one Sunday that my
housemate, Rachel, forced me out of my anxious bubble and made me go to the Sunday
dancing group. I was nervous and stressed by my fear of looking like an idiot
or stepping on some guys feet. However, not a single person asked me to dance
that day. We got there a little late, so I wasn’t surprised. I was actually a
little relieved. However, Rachel was infuriated by this when she found out. I
wouldn’t be surprised if she scolded some of the guys later, and I’m pretty
sure she told a few of them to ask me the next week. Which to me, a guy being
forced to ask me to dance is a million times worse than no one asking at all.
But that’s all in the past, so who cares?
Despite not being asked that first day, I made myself go the
next week (after some push from Rachel). Guys asked me, I danced, I was bad, and
I felt humiliated the whole time. But it really wasn’t as bad as it felt in the
moment. There are many people who are new at it, and I feel like I’m beginning
to pick it up (or, at least I hope). It’s mostly east coast, with a few other couple
dances and contra dances mixed in. I’m not going to go into all the details
about why I like it, but I really like it.
Sadly, I have not been able to go for the past two Sundays. I
was babysitting the one day, and unaware that it was going on the next week.
Nevertheless, I did go to a different swing group dance in between this to get
my fix. This is where my little story comes in.
The usual group I dance with is mostly NSA students, while
this was a legit swing dancing group made up of random locals who just love to
dance. There were a decent number of girls and guys there that I knew. I still went
into this expecting creepy guys, and I was definitely not disappointed. The
first to ask me to dance was this tall man, probably mid-late twenties (at
least), with an impressively large stomach. He was very touchy, putting me in several
close holds that I’m not used to for the basic east coast steps. So, first guy:
very touchy, very sweaty, and very smiley. Also loved eye contact and dips. EEEHH.
Shortly after, another unknown guy asked me. He was very tall and lanky. I
refer to him as the ice skating man, as he preferred to take long and elegant
strides across the floor and prance around, rather than following actual steps.
He wasn’t too bad however, just had a very entertaining style. Most of
the guys that I didn’t know were perfectly fine and nice. However, the
last guy was definitely an interesting one. Before we began dancing, he paused
and asked me my name, major, and how many languages I speak. After responding
with one, he gave an exasperated sigh and immediately started spinning me all over
the place. He had dark hair and a very heavy accent (I’m not going to try to identify
it because I’ll be wrong). Although he was very friendly, he was also very handsy.
Too handsy, actually. He taught me several moves I’ve never seen before, most of which
involved his hands on my hips or some other form of too much physical contact. Anyways, the best part was the ending. After spinning
me into a flamboyant dip, he leans close to my face and whispers “Can I tell
you a secret?” I, completely taken aback, respond with an uneasy “Sure?...”
He leaned closer (I don’t know how that was even possible) and says, “You have beautiful eyes.” I gave an uncomfortable
laugh and quickly got myself out of hold and rushed off the dance floor.
This post turned out way longer than planned, so I’m going
to leave it on that little creepy note.
