Country Dancing

Last night I went country dancing with some friends.  It takes place every Thursday night at studio 600, the LDS dance club (oxymoron!) in downtown Salt Lake.

Couhtry Dancing at Studio 600 feels a little bit like Classic Skating.  For those of you deprived souls who have never been to Classic Skating, truly one of Utah's high points, let me explain:  Classic Skating is a hip scene for 12-year-old socialites.  You go, rent skates, and skate.  Probably the most notorious element of classic skating is the snowball.  Snowball: taking a turn (or many turns) around the rink while holding hands with someone of the opposite gender (that is, if you get asked) while skating to teen boy band ballads.  It's very exciting.  

Before each snowball starts, girls line up on one end of the rink and boys on the other.  As each snowball begins, they announce whether it's girl's or boy's choice.  Girl's choice for me meant skating as fast as I could to the other side of the rink and selecting the cutest boy I could find--often trying to outskate my other girl friends to the one cute boy we've all been eyeing and talking about that day--and asking him, "Would you like the pleasure of this snowball?"  Boy's choice, however, is completely different.  You get to stand on one end of the rink, and wait.  Sometimes you get asked right away and your self-confidence soars.  Other times, you stand there and watch all your friends get asked, and watch the snowball from the sidelines.

Country dancing felt like the equivalent of Snowballs at Classic Skating, except every song is a snowball, and the night is perpetually (and more traditionally) boy's choice.  Which means girls get to stand on the side of the dance floor, hoping they will and also hoping they won't get asked to dance.  What a terrible arrangement!  Honestly, who decided this was a good idea?  "Let's set up guys and girls at dances like you appoint team captains at recess."  Guys are the team captains, they get to choose; girls get to stand in a line, praying they'll be chosen first (then second, then third, then fourth) and all the while their athletic ability (in the schoolyard version) or their attractiveness (in the country dancing version) are being rated before their very eyes, in public.  Needless to say, while country dancing, vulnerability was at an all-time high. (And the fact that I went with two beautiful blondes didn't help.  I know people try and dismiss the blonde thing as a myth, but I believe it.  Sure, guys will realize brunettes are cooler in the end :), but there's just something about that blonde hair that catches your eye.  I'll admit it.)

In case your confused by my analogies, I was the girl watching from the sidelines of a snowball, or the last kid to be picked for teams at recess.  But I'm okay with it.  Because I wasn't exactly pining for all the country dancing men wearing tight designer jeans and snake-skin boots, either.

Will I go country dancing again? Probably not, unless I've recently dyed my hair blonde.  However, I still had a good time.  I just have to laugh at the awkwardness of the situation: I stand and talk to my two blonde friends at the beginning of each song, then one gets whisked away, then another, then I make a run for the couch, where I can sit and give off the idea that I'm not interested in dancing, my expression saying, "No, thanks.  I'm too good for dancing.  I've been dancing so much tonight I need to take a breather." 

But regardless of the hits to my self-confidence and my identity as a brunette, I enjoyed myself, for one reason: I got lifted into the air by a 5 foot tall Mexican man.  And when I say 5 feet tall, I mean 4'10''.  I'm not tall by any means, and I actually had to look down at this man to see him.  So if I enjoyed one thing about the night, it was the fact that for once in my life I got to look down at someone shorter than me who was not under age 10.  Thank you, short Mexican, for making my night.  And for not dropping me.