Monday, December 13, 2010
A Cure for White Man's Overbite?
If you asked any of my high school friends about my ability to dance, they would probably bite their lower lips and say, "She has a tendency to do this."
I've never had much rhythm. As a kid, I wanted to join a cheerleading team but it was expensive and I don't think my parents wanted to deal with driving me to practice and competitions. So while some of my friends were cultivating the ability to groove to a beat and pick up the latest moves from their instructors, I was writing poetry and playing out dramatic storylines with my Barbies (yes, I was a late bloomer).
I would only dance to slow songs at school dances. And in college, when we started going to clubs, the white man's overbite would creep out every time. Thankfully, my kind friends would point it out and laugh hysterically so I could amend my facial expression when necessary...
I've gotten better about the lip-biting, but I still wouldn't say I'm a great dancer. Unless there's disco music playing. Then I can tear it up. But dancing properly at weddings and stuff? Definitely not my forte.
The night Mr. Wonderful and I got engaged, we were celebrating with drinks and dessert at the Madonna Inn, when suddenly the lead singer of the band said, "Now we'd like to have Melissa and Mr. W come to the dance floor for a special dance in honor of their engagement."
We both froze. And Mr. W's then roommate, Dirty Painter, laughed really hard.
He knew we couldn't dance. But there was no getting around it for either of us. We were on the spot. So with a couple dozen people watching, Mr. W and I took to the dance floor and tried to perform while the band played "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." We were both blushing profusely and I was sweating like a transvestite in a trucker bar. So many eyes on us. So many toes attached to my feet. So much room on that parquet floor. And it's not like Mr. W has stellar dance skills and could just lead me around, hiding my ineptness.
We were a pretty sad pair. And we knew this spelled big trouble for our first dance at the wedding.
But being the über thoughful superhuman he is, last night Mr. W gave me an early Christmas gift: 2 private dance lessons for us to squeeze in before he leaves to work in London for two months. I'm hoping this means our toes will be twinkling and our overbites will be concealed by the time the big day rolls around.