Dancing with the Spaz

Well, some things never change: I am still a terrible dancer. Fiance and I had our first ballroom dance lesson last night at Fred Astaire New York Midtown Dance Studio. Five minutes into the lesson, our instructor, Zahar (a cute Ukrainian guy) was asking Fiance if he'd ever had dance lessons before, and whether he played an instrument. I got patient and sympathetic looks from him. And I got tapped on the shoulder, in an effort to make me hear the beat. Gloria Estefan I am not. I cannot, for the life of me, hear the percussion while I'm trying to figure out what to do with my feet. And God help me on the Under Arm Turn in the Rumba. I think the situation might be hopeless. We signed up for 5 more lessons. Hopefully I won't embarrass myself at the wedding. Good thing I have a big dress to hide under!