I dreaded this more than getting my colon pumped
And in front of Oti Mabusi of all people.
I was looking forward to some of the year’s activities more than others.
I was murdering a chicken, cuddling with strangers, and heaving my colon pumped (not on the same day) – but going to a dance class was probably the worst, and I was dreading it.
My wife, Jasmine, on the other hand, was delighted. In January, I’d told her I was desperate for new things to do, and she’d savaged the opportunity: ‘We could do a dance class together!’
How could I say no?
She arranged us tickets to the Valentine’s Day Couple’s Dance Class in nearby Wembley, hosted by none other than the famous Oti Mabusi (Me: ‘Who?! The Newsround presenter?’). Oti was/is a beloved television personality and accomplished dancer, known for starring in the glamorous primetime show Strictly Come Dancing. Jasmine loved/loves the show and she loved/loves Oti too.
Jasmine’s Strictly fantasy was about to come true - if, of course, by ‘fantasy’, you mean awkwardly shuffling around a warehouse in Hangar Lane just off the A40.
Arriving late, I was hoping we might get turned away. We didn’t.
The other attendees were a real motley crew1, from builders to ballet dancers, from wibbly wobblers to graceful gallopers. There was a range of skillsets, but all had one thing in common: they were better than us.
Oti attempted to teach us to salsa, foxtrot, and cha-cha-cha (where I was hoping for the robot, the floss, and the stanky leg). They were hard work, especially when your wife’s legs are half the length of yours. Her cheeks were flushed, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the exercise or embarrassment.
Incidentally, if you do own a dance studio, a great idea for self-conscious first timers is to cover all the walls in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
At one point I ended up doing the foxtrot by simply walking in a circle around the studio, and I could barely do that with any grace. ‘Is that Peter Crouch?’ the attendees asked (I assume).
I could have been auditioning for a Daniel Day-Lewis sequel, My Two Left Feet. It turns out I must have guilty feet because they have got no rhythm. They say you should never trust a man who can dance – well then, consider me David Attenborough.
Still, Jasmine got to dance with Oti, who she adored/adores, and even got a hug.
Despite the embarrassment, it was a nice evening out. We were snipping and sniping at home, but it felt good to do something as partners, to be in synch (kind of). Jasmine said it was nice not to feel like a mum for once. In the break, she phoned home so she could see our son’s face.
And, if I took away one thing, at least getting my colon pumped no longer looked so bad.
How about you, reader - what’s one activity you wished you’d never done?
Not them.