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August 22, 2005

Dancing days here again for lapsed hoofer

By ROBIN WATSON

Robin WatsonThis is going to sound ridiculous, but I've always wanted to be a dancer. Yeah, laugh. Ha-ha. It's true.

I would watch the television show "Fame" back in the '80s and dream about going to a performing arts school to learn how to become a professional dancer. I was a dancing fool when I was a little girl.

But sadly nothing came of it. So now as an adult who never followed my dreams of dancing and who also needs to find some type of physical activity to stop the spare tire from further forming around my middle, I've decided to try ballroom dancing. I know it's not exactly what they did on "Fame," but it's still dancing. The commercial for the Fred Astaire Dance Studio caught my eye one evening while I watched "Dancing With The Stars." I thought if John O'Hurley can ballroom dance, so can I. I was also inspired by his loss of 15 pounds while participating in the reality show dance competition.

So I called the franchise in Trumbull and made an appointment for a free half-hour introductory lesson with Henry on a recent Friday night. I didn't start getting nervous until I found myself in the dance studio parking lot and noticed people walking in for their lessons. Oh my God! There are going to be witnesses to my dancing exploits. I didn't even consider that when I made the appointment. I imagined being in a room with just me and Henry, not a lesson out in the open for the world to see. Oh no. But I told myself that I couldn't back out now, so I went in.

The Fred Astaire Dance Studio is tucked away in Trumbull Center on White Plains Road. It's a large open room with hardwood floors, a mirrored wall, a "Dirty Dancing" movie poster and a stereo. There's a smaller room for private lessons in the back. There's a couch and some stools to the left and right as you walk in the door. A small office is in a corner.

Henry casually walked out of the office, introduced himself to me and shook my hand. I noticed immediately that he's hot — in that dance teacher, hairy chest, gold chain kind of way.

The thought crossed my mind right then: "Why can I not remove this horribly cheesy grin I have plastered across my face?" At that point, I realized I was terrified and I hadn't even danced a step.

Bless Henry. He could tell I was nervous and talked slowly to me. He began the lesson by simply walking. He took my hand and we walked forward, and then backward, and then to the left and to the right. He said if you can do that, you can dance. Sure, Henry.

We tried the very basic beginner steps of salsa, cha-cha, waltz, tango and swing. I was horrible, but I found myself having fun and forgetting about the other students in the room. That cheesy grin turned into a legitimate smile. I was actually having a good time stepping on Henry's feet. Before I knew it though, my half-hour was up, but Henry told me to come back in an hour for the social. On Friday nights, the dance school has a weekly social where students get together from 9 to 11 p.m. to mingle and practice steps. He told me that's why everyone around me was wearing jeans; tonight's theme was '60s night. Every week, the social has a different theme. I thought everyone was wearing jeans because they're comfortable. So I grabbed an iced latte from around the corner at a coffee shop and came back to the studio to find an unexpected mixture of teenagers, senior citizens — men, women, singles and couples — inside getting ready to dance. It was the most diverse group I've seen in Connecticut outside of the casinos.

I have to admit that while sitting on my stool, not knowing anyone, I did have a flashback of being at a junior high school dance where everyone was dancing except me. But then Henry asked me to dance, and then James (wearing a dashiki, no less), and then Adrian and Oscar and Allison. And I don't even know how to dance.

And I can explain dancing with Allison. She's one of the teachers at the studio. Generally, at these socials, the women outnumber the men, so if a woman wants to dance she dances with another woman. So, men, if you're looking for women, hello, sign up for ballroom dancing. I decided to register for more lessons as a result of the free introductory one, but you don't have to. You can just go and see if you like it. That was my intention. But, I found myself smiling entirely too much and having fun without really trying and now I'm hooked. For more information, call the Trumbull studio at 268-6588, tell them you're a friend of mine and that you'd like to give ballroom dancing a shot.

Posted by getout on August 22, 2005 8:13 AM

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