There was a time w
hen I didn’t know how to line dance; after five years of line dancing on a fairly regular basis I now find this hard to believe, but I do know it to be true.
Despite the rocky seas last night, I joined the rest of the team on the dance floor of the upper lounge to at least attempt to run the line dancing class. The first dance was chaotic (wrong music, big problem!) but it went smoothly from there on.
The thing is, when the ship is rocking, my dancer self-preservation instinct kicks in, my knees bend, my hips relax, and I somewhat turn myself into a human version of “wibble wobble don’t fall down” . Which means it begins to show that I am a dancer, or at least that I still have most of the basic instincts of one. It usually takes a few dances for this to be noticeable, as I don’t exactly purposely show it off…but inevitably, someone notices something else…
Standing in between dances, wishing dearly for a glass of water to calm my still woozy tummy, I heard the distinct murmuring of one of the ladies in the front row who had just sat down.
Her shoes, she doesn’t have normal shoes…
It’s always the shoes they notice, not the hip motion, not the spins in the electric slide, nope, it’s the shoes. Soft leather, Bloc, split sole dance shoes. They grip the floor enough to give me security, but slide enough to allow me to spin. I own three pairs of them, two of which are perfectly broken to my feet to the point where it is like not wearing shoes at all; and this pair, which are nearly brand new and are still in the breaking in process (and their laces are still all in one piece!).
And yes, the look pretty lousy with evening wear but hey, some things are worth it.