Last night was a doozy. Sam and I stopped at the El Segundo farmer’s market for dinner (not a good decision) before hitting up our Thursday night Swing class. Stomach aching like I had just had cat on a stick instead of chicken (when will I learn not to eat street food?) I shuffled right, left and kick-stepped back in agony. Every twirl was a hurl away from being my last.
The class is set up so that we switch partners often, which is great for variety and experience, but bad for when you just ate cat. Stinky guy was the worst. He’s so sweet and I love him, really I do, but when I had to duck under his arm I almost cried. Odor is not a good thing for when you already feel sick. And then there’s short guy who I swear comes up to my shoulder blade. Every time he twirls me I have to do a squat, which I don’t mind normally; it’s good for the thighs. Last night however, when he came around the circle as my partner, I had the feeling I was trapped in a washer-machine with a Hobbit going around and around and around…
I’ve also got a partner who grabs his fist and bows to me each time. No he’s not Asian, but his pronunciation of ‘konichiwa’ is awesome. He’s pretty cute actually and his hands aren’t as sweaty as most. I’d say he’s one of my favorites. My other favorite is the tallest guy in the class who must be at least 6’3. He’s quiet and thin and very gentle. Dancing with him is a little bit like floating as he pulls me and pushes me out. And when he spins me, his height makes it easy-peasy; even with cat on a stick in my stomach. Sam of course is my favorite-favorite because A) he’s 6’1, which makes dancing with him very comfortable and B) because he makes me smile the whole time. (I’m still waiting for the day when he smiles back.)
As soon as class was over, I went home and climbed into bed. My last thought before dropping off into a deep, healing sleep was that I had to stop eating dinner with Sam. The man buys tacos from street vendors and hot dogs from little, old ladies with makeshift grills on sidewalk corners. Obviously he has a stomach that’s used to cat on a stick and other such ‘delicacies.’ He cannot be trusted again.
The good news is that we’re taking an aerials class this Sunday, which will teach Sammy baby how to flip me and throw me up, up, and away. A few more dinners like last night and I’ll be as light as a feather.