It’s never too late to learn something new.  But just in case, Amy and I arrived at our first dance class early.

Taking dance class was my idea.  I wanted to do something new with Amy.  Something out of my comfort zone… but as college kids and mature couples arrived, I had second thoughts.  What if we suck?  What if we have to switch partners?  What if we have to talk to everyone?!   I had an overwhelming urge to either leave, or shoot for single leg takedowns on anyone standing (grappling habit).

[a single leg takedown]

The instructor started by asking if anyone was getting married.  One of the young couples was.  A middle-aged couple wanted to dance at parties.  A dour couple looked like they needed couples therapy.  Then there was Amy with her ass seated on my crotch.  Her territorial side tends to come out in public groups.

The teacher introduced us to the first rules of dance club:  It’s for fun.  It’s noncompetitive.  And it’s going to take time and patience.  She stressed,

“This isn’t a competition like Dancing With The Stars.  Their so-called beginners have had over 40 hours of one-on-one practice by the time you’ve seen them.”

It reminded me of my first lesson in Brazilian jiu jitsu five years ago, even down to the media comparisons (except in the UFC).  The first lesson in that MRSA-colonized basement was,

“This is what a rear naked choke feels like.”  It was a sloppy choke – made me hoarse for a week.  Lesson two was – “Oops!  Forgot to tell you how to tap out.”

There were a lot of ways dancing reminded me of grappling (or submission wrestling or Brazilian jiu jitsu):

1)  You move with your partner.

2) Both require close contact (actually closer in jiu jitsu).

3)  Hip movement is key.

4)  You don’t have to be gay to practice with the same gender, but that’s what people will be thinking when they see it.

“Place one hand at shoulder level,” the dance instructor demonstrated, “Place the other one under her arm”.  It had a similar set-up as a particular judo throw, underhooking one arm and holding the other.  I refrained from throwing Amy over my shoulder.

“Step one, two, three, four.  Now put your hand up and ladies, twirl around it.  Keep it loose.”

“This is a very basic dance step,” the instructor stated, “You can bust it out at any get-together.”

Hey, just like the rear naked choke.

[rear naked choke, A for effort at least]

Amy and I misstepped several times like everyone else.  An open  smile stayed on her happy lips, a rare expression between motherly exasperation and her occasional raucous laughter.  She has pretty teeth.

Our own personal habits intruded upon the dance lesson.  Amy had a natural tendency to lead.  I had a natural tendency to verbally correct things.  We both stopped ourselves.  Amy let herself try the docile role, and I shut up and admired her eyes and boobies.

Other couples’ roles to each other became apparent too.  The desperately bored wife and the timid husband.  The got-nothin’-but-our-lovin’ young couple.  The over-intellectualizing professor and the practical wife.  The last call drinking buddies.

“If you keep your hand up, your partner can twirl and twirl beneath it, until you put it down again.  Your partner follows your hand.”

This simple control tactic reminded me of the wrestling adage – where the head goes, the body follows.  The idea being that if you control the head, you control the body.

Sometimes our heads wouldn’t be in it at the beginning of class.  Maybe one of us wasn’t in the mood or an argument occurred on the way there.  But like Dr. Ruth used to say, don’t go to bed angry – have sex anyway.  Once we started dancing together, our heads would go where our hearts wanted to go.  It’s hard to stay mad after you’ve sweated it out through fighting, fucking, or dancing.  Physically, does your heart even know the difference?  It just wants that release, one way or another.

We learned basic steps from the meringue, the salsa, the waltz, and others, although initially I couldn’t tell the difference except for “easier, faster, and slower.”  We picked up on the American fox trot and the jitterbug swing the easiest.  Although, the march-step of the meringue did have a neat arm-behind-the-head move that could have transitioned into an armlock.

“Most of us will take several lessons before we get used to these steps.  Then it’ll just flow,” the instructor reassured us.

They call that muscle memory (a more technically correct term is  “motor memory” – oops, I’m correcting again).  Same thing happens with trained fighters.  When I started Brazilian jiu jitsu, I wanted to learn how a fighter or wrestler thinks, how he knows or decides what to do.  After a while I found that with some expertise, you simply react with a minimum of cues.  You still make choices (especially in jiu jitsu), but like language, you’re not picking out words but rather whole phrases are linked together.  Once the conversation between bodies begins, intellectualizing it is limited to a post-game activity.  You don’t have to think as much as you just feel.  Your head doesn’t get in the way of your heart.

This is why I took up dancing with Amy.  I want us to speak that language together.

(And she was afraid she would hurt me in jiu jitsu.)

———-

TRUTH IN ADVERTISING

Sweet Korean [sic] Pancake Mix.  Yes it is.  There’s nothing more to say about it.

Also wanted to thank Jackie for the twitter link (twout out?  twink?  twank?  twat?).

Thanks to Yuhri for explaining why some people take their meds inconsistently:
“power ups.”

To Rick for starting a new cartoon sensation (no pressure!).

And my sassy dongseng for posting not once, but TWICE this year already.