just call us Fred and Ginger

Tuesday was my birthday and our first ballroom dance class.

Neither of us have taken dance classes worth mentioning (two free ballet classes when I was 12 hardly puts me in the professional category) so I knew there was the possibility we would end up on the floor looking more like this:

than this:

(Can you imagine Christopher wearing a multicolored sequined shirt? The day he starts putting anti-wrinkle cream on his face before bed will be the day he wears sequins.) 

To the surprise of all (not the least of which OURSELVES), we did very well at the rumba. The teacher kept asking if we were sure we'd never done it before. At one point we rotated partners and I was with Asa, a very old man wearing a Hawaiin shirt and chewing Juicy Fruit gum. He asked if I ever go dancing. I said no then changed my answer to yes when I remembered that Zumba, in the very white girl way I do it, is almost dancing. Judging from the look on his face, I'd venture to say that Asa 1) had no idea what zumba is, or 2) was disgusted that someone who thinks zumba is real dancing wants to join his ballroom dance club. 

Next week we learn the tango. Apparently it should look like this:

source

hahahahahahahahahaha

I have a feeling our beginners luck is about to run out.