I know that dance is not a new concept in the history of mankind. As soon as we as a people could stand and beat rocks together to establish rhythm, somebody started swaying to it and looking longingly at their partner of choice. Who immediately went in search for something dangerous and manly to do that didn’t require counting and rhythm.

But dance here in Waunaland, especially Latin Ballroom dance, and has had a huge resurgence fueled equally in part by parental need to recreate together sans children in public without sitting and consuming calories, and to reestablish the fact that we can go out regularly once a week for an hour and a half, and find on our return that the house will still be standing.

The Wauna Guy turned the big “five oh” this weekend. I attempted to surprise him with the rental of the F. O. E. club (Fraternal Order of the Eagles for you uninitiated folk) and the hiring of our dance instructor to teach a bit of dance for the rest of us.

It seemed like a great idea at the time. I rented a hall that quite a few could sit in. I could feed them cake and coffee without the worry about cooking for the masses, and we could all dance and skip the need to carry on awkward conversation with people that we see once every other decade or so. What I didn’t take into consideration is that roughly half of the invited folk would decline on the perception that they can’t dance. (Unfortunately, it seems that it was the male half of the invitees that squashed the idea.)

That seems so sad to me. Those people who did show up had a great time laughing and joking and DANCING! The kids in attendance last night had no qualms stepping up and grabbing a partner and with furrowed brow followed instruction with excitement and joy. A few of the more timid joined in on the second half of the dance session and discovered that they could keep up quite easily. And I think my spousal unit was a bit surprised by the event, mostly by who showed, and how much fun they had.

So Waunalandians, dance! Its fun, you can do it in the kitchen, in the streets and, well, other places. You don’t have to be a star. You don’t have to be Fred and Ginger Rogers. For those who couldn’t make the party, well, I’ll be reaching my big “five oh” in three years, four months. Start practicing now!