Good Days, Bad Days, and Unhappy Feet

There are so many things on my list to blog about that I don't know where to begin, so I decided that I may as well start with a simple one, since it's late and the day has been so busy. Today's subject is dancing. Sort of. As you know, I really love ballroom dancing. Unfortunately, some days it just doesn't love me back.

Yesterday evening I had my usual lesson in the hour just before our weekly dance party. It turned out to be one of those times when I felt like I had more left feet than a centipede. Nothing seemed to work right ... if my posture was good, my timing was off; if my timing was right, I danced the wrong pattern; if I danced the pattern pattern correctly and with the right timing, it was bound to be at the wrong place in the routine. I felt like Bozo the Clown in dance shoes. Agnes enjoyed it, though ... she'd had a tough week at work, and enjoyed the belly laughs at the expense of her hapless husband.

Sadly, it didn't get much better at the party. The downside to being married to a dance teacher is that everyone expects you to be the reincarnation of Fred Astaire ... but last night, I danced like the reincarnation of Fred Flintstone. Fortunately, ballroom dancing is a sport characterized by good manners, so the ladies all thanked me graciously for the dances, without asking me why I was dancing like a spastic water buffalo.

Things went a little better today, when Agnes and I drove up to Bethesda, Maryland, to meet with our dance coach for additional training. But it's all relative: the men aren't going to be giving up dancing in fear of competition from me ... at least, for a while.

I've been doing this long enough to know that I'm always going to have good days and bad days. The problem is that I have enough good days that I sometimes get used to them, and feel that much worse on the bad ones. Oh, well ... next week is a new week, and it has to get better.

Doesn't it?

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo