We had our tenth and final dance lesson this evening and, I must say, I’m glad it’s over. It was a lovely and thoughtful gift from my wife, it gave us some moments together and plenty to talk about for a long time, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was enjoyable.
It was almost like dancing, except with all the fun parts eliminated, or even reversed. Instead of comfortable clothing, it was dress shoes, a shirt and tie. Instead of low lighting, it was glaring bright lighting. Instead of the hippest, latest tunes it was stuff from like the 1950s. Instead of just flailing around and doing whatever feels comfortable, there was a lady drill sergeant barking instructions (in fairness, she was a fairly hot lady drill sergeant).
It struck me tonight (as Helena continually tried to stop in the middle to tell me everything I was doing wrong) that maybe the Czech attitude to dance is similar, in a way, to the Czech attitude toward cooking. They tend to feel that if you’ve followed all the rules, and done a lot of work, then it must be good, and they’re not judging by the taste at all. Take bramborak (potato pancakes) for example. There are about 12 stages to the preparation of them and one is grating the damned things, which generally results in scraped and bleeding knuckles, and the result is a greasy slab of starch that is less appealing than potatoes prepared in absolutely any other way, all of which are simpler.
But, it’s over. I’m glad we did it, we’ve had the experience and whenever anybody mentions taking a ballroom dancing course, I’ll know what they’re talking about. But, my plan is to never do it again.
We went out for coffee and cake afterwards to celebrate.