Salsa and a Mama Sita

MB doesn't dance. Not at all. Not even the white man shuffle. This has been a major point of contention between us (yeah, we have nothing better to fight about, right?) mainly because for 18 years, dancing was my life. I was going to be a ballet dancer until I grew boobs and realized I didn't want to develop an eating disorder. Oh, and there were a couple of small points about bad joints, and a general lack of flexibility and talent.

But still, I have dance in my heart. I dance whenever I can. By myself when I clean, in the shower, mowing the lawn, wherever. It is who I am, and to neglect that part of me, well...it's as if a little part of me inside has died. Nothing makes my heart soar more than being led out onto a dance floor by someone who really knows what they are doing. I yearn for weddings just so I can dance to a romantic song.

But with MB, those times are very few and far between. We got into an arguement a long time ago where I basically made it clear that I didn't want to be standing in the middle of the dance floor on my wedding day, while my groom sits with his arms crossed at the head table. No-one can hate dancing THAT much, can they?

So, we took baby steps. He agreed that we would only dance if he had steps, so we went for swing dancing lessons. The lessons were fantastic...I got my fix while he was learning. Unfortunately, this all went to pot our first time on a real dance floor. He couldn't remember the steps and it all fell apart. I was frustrated to get so far and flop, and I lost my temper. This set us back, oh, about 6 months. He never wanted to get on a dance floor again.

So, we were at an impass. I asked him what the issue was. He replied that he looked stupid dancing (thanks to the constant put downs of his then-wife...cheers to her, I have to deal with the fallout...and now I had aggrevated the situation) and that he was flat out scared to do it, phobic even. During one of our counselor visits, he likened it to my fear of spiders...completely irrational, yet it was still there. I began to understand a bit more then. I can understand how fear is irrational, but even if I cannot understand it, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

We began slowly again, slow dancing at weddings. Not one ounce of criticism from me, just gentle encouragement and gratitude for the moments stolen on the floor.

(Sidenote: One thing that has always bugged me about MB is that he is so stubborn, so firm about what he will and will not do with me, but he is open to suggestions of others. If he complains of constant stomach aches, and I recommend that he cuts out the eight cans of fully-leaded pop he drinks a day, he doesn't believe me. If his personal trainer tells him the exact same thing, he'll take his word for it. If I've been wanting to go to a Japanese restaurant (my favourite), he'll refuse because he doesn't want to try it. But if his staff at work want to go and have Japanese, he'll go and try it with them, but not with me.)

So this brings us to this Saturday. I've been wanting to go Salsa dancing forever, but he's always refused. Until now. And guess why? A girl at work was having a birthday party at a salsa club and invited him (and me) to go. So we went. First, it hurt my feelings that he'll go when someone else asks him to (but not me) and second, we just sat there, watching everyone else have such a good time dancing. For me, it was like bringing a starving person to a buffet and telling them not to touch. Brutal. I actually was choking back tears for a few minutes at the unfairness of it all. It didn't help that the birthday girl is hot, and they work together closely (she replaced my position). But all that changed when he asked me to dance...

We danced for a few songs, actually doing really well. I could have danced all night (I felt like Eliza!) but it was over too soon.

Baby steps, baby steps. Now if I can only work on my little "jealousy" issue...*sigh*...