Not long ago, I started taking ballroom dance lessons. Dance was something I had never done before, not even in the privacy of my own home. My dancing experience was limited to a few slow dances with boys in my high school gym – a few decades ago. I’m sure you can picture it: my arms draped over his shoulders, his hands on my waist, swaying side to side to “End of the Road” by Boyz II Men. I’m not sure you can even call that dancing and I am embarrassed to admit that I was horrible even at that.
Remember the scene in Steve Martin’s movie, “The Jerk”, where Steve Martin’s character, try as he might, just couldn’t snap or clap along to the same rhythm as his friends and family? That was me. I had no rhythm. I had no timing. I looked like someone trying to do the robot while having a seizure.
It was bad.
Very bad.
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