35 years ago I was a square dancer; ‘danced almost every day for almost five years. I also traveled and performed in two precision dance groups. I loved it, and loved the people. Three of those dancing people were T, G, and R—through whom I met a non-dancer friend of theirs.
Hubby came complete with bell bottoms, desert boots, long hair, and a turntable; Mr. Berkeley. No neckerchief bandanas; no shirts with snaps on ‘em; no cowboy boots. And he wasn’t going to be seen with any girl wearing a skirt that stuck out at a 90-degree angle from her bird legs. About square dancing, this was his war cry: “The key word here… is ‘square’.” So I hung up my crinolines and never looked back.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, guess where we went tonight? Yup! A few weeks ago Hubby came home with a card offering free square dance lessons. He said, “I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but maybe this is something we could do together.”
Three weeks later, he was stunned when he discovered I had actually saved that card. (Literally hemming and hawing—speechless. HAHA!)
Each of us was surprised how much fun we were having! There were about 50 people there, ages 1 to 81; and we weren’t the only rookies!
I’m short but not small, and have a relatively small personal bubble, so at first I was not sure I wanted to pursue this. But Hubby gave me a little talking to regarding my too-stringent proprieties, and the next round I was more comfortable. After one hour of dancing, he and I each had decided we’d come back, and by the end of the two hours, we were sure of it.
Afterward, we met up with other friends, and found ourselves trying to drum up couples to join us next week. No takers. Too bad, it was great exercise.
Man. Mr. Berkeley, square dancing. Now I’ve seen everything.