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You can dress her up, but you can't lead her on the dance floor
Some of us have two left feet. Some of us wear Big Shooz™. One of us has two left feet, wears Big Shooz and loves stepping on my toes. Hmm, now who might that be?
Jennifer and I were reminiscing about taking ballroom dance lessons at Arthur Murray studios in Santa Barbara when we did morning radio at Magic 106 FM. Karen Hermanson, the Arthur Murray franchisee owner and instructor, very patiently taught us several styles of dance, but our favorite was the tango.
Among the hundreds of “dog and pony shows” that radio personalities must endure throughout their careers – for all the advertisers paying their enormous salaries – we were rather fortunate in Santa Barbara to enjoy many really fun events, like the tango, that didn’t include begging for canned goods, standing in front of Circuit City (see where that got them?) and being Katnapped by a crazed lady in a van after the remote broadcast.
My apologies to Circuit City if my being lured into an overly zealous fan’s van and whisked away to Paradise Café for a little wine, a little conversation and a lot of zen the moment attempts to get me to accompany her back to her place – wink wink – caused their company to take it in the shorts while I was getting it between the sheets.
The wine and conversation were great, but even stray Kats know where to draw the line . . . sometimes. Okay, this time I drew the line after the bottle of wine. Wild Horse Merlot. Beyond the story and a new vintage, I walked away from my charming kidnapper with my integrity intact . . . as she drove back to her husband.
Remember, ladies, popping a cork is no guarantee that popping out of your blouse while popping your seductive question will be met with an inebriated and enthusiastic yes. Her logic was that we should just be “in the moment” and let whatever happens, happen. My logic was that I didn’t want to share that moment with her, if it meant in the next moment her HUSBAND might be sharing a baseball bat with my head.
I don’t claim to know much about Zen, but I was rather certain that our moments – among other things – would never meet. Apparently, one of us was a little further down the path and in this world of duality, some paths don’t merge and some lines never converge. The quantum math and existential conundrums make my head hurt, but not nearly like it would if a chunk of wood slammed into it.
What is the sound of one bat swinging? It doesn’t sound like a very fun game.
And what does this have to do with tango, kicking balls for fun into video screens under the dome of billion dollar stadiums, uniforms for school children and slumber parties for girls who giggle after putting bras in the freezer? You’ll have to listen to the show to know.
Because girls are trouble. Whether they won’t let you lead them where they don’t want to go or they won’t stop trying to lead you where you don’t want to go, this dance of life can get a little crazy and a little painful from all the toes being stepped on as we scramble to take a seat when the music stops.
My son, Matt, dances better than me, but he’s been doing it longer, which isn’t meant to take anything away from his natural talent, dedication and all his hard work and training.
However, when it comes to women, I’ve been doing it longer and I still feel I have nothing to teach him.
So, son, if you’re listening to your ol’ man, then always drink less than she does, let her wear the fine dress while you wear the big shoes, and should you make a mistake and step on her toes, hopefully she won’t kick your balls into the video screen.
Love,
Dad
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