With mind tricks and other various and nefarious methods of subterfuge, Amy convinced me to learn to salsa with her.
So last night after climbing (and a fine night of climbing it was!) I quickly changed out of my climbing clothes and into what I thought would be comfortable clothing for salsa: a pair of loose corduroys and a colored t-shirt.
We wandered six blocks to the local community center, where we joined twenty-or-so other people and our instructor, Juan, who is from Colombia.
He threw on the music and the next thing we knew, we were dancing salsa, merengue, and cumbia.
Fifty minutes later, the music stopped.
To be frank, I'm just too tall and lanky to ever be a good dancer, and I feel like an Oz scarecrow most of the time when music is playing and I'm moving.
I can play anything you like on just about any instrument you hand me. But I just can't dance.
No matter.
By the time we finished, I realized that for fifty minutes, I forgot about work or money or real estate or the nature of the human soul.
And while those are important things at the right times, once in a while it might just feel good to throw on the music and one two three and one two three and one two three and one two three.
Whee!
