Dancing

Yes, I know, the headline is laughable if one knows me at all, and this past Saturday was no exception as I "danced" the night away.  It was Kike's birthday, and Michelle had us all surprise him by showing up at his favorite salsa place, Quiebra Canto.  This was my third and favorite time going out dancing; the other places were way too packed, and, hmmmmm, there is no way my body can do the moves.  At all.  Salsa, fortunately, is a little easier...if you have a good partner.  

One of the guys from our group led me out onto the floor when the night was still young and only one other couple was dancing.  This was not good as all eyes could see just how horrible we were.  Although this dude can move his hips a bit, he doesn't know salsa, and he might need a little practice leading.  But, yes, we can blame me.  We danced about half a song before slinking off the floor, red-faced, and knowing that no dude in his right mind would ask me to dance now.  

Thankfully, my old Spanish tutor, Wilson, came to the rescue.  Not only is he a good tutor, but he is a very patient teacher and taught me the basic moves.  Sure, we didn't look as great as everyone else on the dance floor, but we kept to the rhythm.  Then Brian pulled me out.  He knows the primary steps and was able to lead me around, so it was pretty painless.  In fact, we were able to have a conversation with me only getting off beat every once in a while.  

The first man, seeing how the other guys made it look so easy, mistakenly believed he could now handle twirling me around.  Sigh.  We danced two more songs in a row before sitting down, and let me tell you, those were by far the most painful dances of my life.  Although we were a bit better than the last time, he managed to step on my high-heeled feet three times...at the minimum.  Ahhhhh!!!!!  Smiling through the torture, I played it off as if all the nerve endings in my toes were not screaming to my hypothalamus.  It's a good thing he has such a good sense of humor.  

Once back at the table, I checked my poor, abused feet to find blood bubbling up from my big toe.  Racing to the bathroom so my new sandals wouldn't get stained, I staunched the blood flow only to find a large chunk of my nail stuck to the paper towel.  Ughhhhhh....So typical.  I am due for a pedicure and now have to wait until an inch of nail grows back.  Don't even get me started on the infection part.  

Amazingly enough (yes, I'm patting my own back here), I continued dancing, though without the steel-toed man.  All in all, a good night.  

*For some of the more squeamish people, I apologize if you were eating while reading this.  You can thank me for not posting a zoom-in picture of my toe, though.