From January 2007 St. Thomas Super Shopper
Time will tell, but my career as an amateur ballroom dancer may have peaked prematurely.
This realization dawned on me—no, it came crashing down like a ballerina caught en pointe in steel-toed work boots—the first lesson after Christmas.
My lovely wife Nancy and I had agreed to “move up”, as they like to say. Up to the Advanced Class.
It took little time in January to make me realize that Advanced is a misnomer. Even the Retreat Class would be a bit on the charitable side.
In my case, its proper classification would be a word that begins the same: Ret- - - ed.
I think of the term, not in its fairly recent, politically incorrect sense. Nor am I intending the word to mirror the way teenagers bandy the term about, to essentially mean “stupid”.
No, I go back further to an Oxford English Dictionary meaning: “to delay the progress or accomplishment, to impede the course of (an action, movement, etc.).”
Dear readers, dear, dear, faithful readers . . . I exited this particular class after 90 minutes of instruction without accomplishing either of the two new moves we had been shown.
And any progress or accomplishment was further delayed, by wagging tongues.
The following week, there were reports from two dance class attendees we shall call Twiddledee and Twinkletoes. They alleged we had left the class early. Apparently things were that bad.
Twiddledee and Twinkletoes are not even in our class. However, in St. Thomas, village of gossip, this charge was picked up AND REPEATED by two dancers we shall call Deerfoot and Lightfoot. As well as by one instructor.
Let me set this warped record straight.
It is absolutely true that we danced like a couple of . . . well, never mind.
And just as false that we left early.
But if we had, it would have been because one or more of us had slipped out for a nip. It’s the pressure. Lesser mortals would not be able to take it.