I must be getting older; Ballroom dance lessons are starting to look appealing. There existed a time, somewhere in my high school and college years, that standing in the corner and banging my head was the only form of two-step I wanted to know. Gyrating on the dance floor had long since left the area of respectful expression. Not that I’m some sort of old fogie nowadays, but I am beginning to appreciate higher forms of art. Or at least people that put forth the effort. So the times do change.
I blame my recent interest in old movies as the culprit. It started with Carey Grant and Hitchcock and has worked its way around to Hepburn, Hepburn, and Bogart. I think I’m becoming a junkie. TMC and AMC (pre-commercials) became my favorite channels for a while. Now that some of the old classics have found their way onto DVD, I’m in heaven. I’ve already worn out a copy of Arsenic and Old Lace because of my devotion to Carey Grant.
Carey Grant. Has there been any finer specimen of masculinity, I ask you? Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, great smile, and exquisitely handsome, what more could a woman ask for? Well a great sense of humor and wouldn’t you know he had that too.
But, before I go off on a soppy tangent: Ballroom dancing. When I asked my husband about it, he said of course he was interested. He is such an angel. I should buy him the wings and halo to match.
It sounds fun now. Back in the day, however, it would have seemed a deplorable waste of time. I guess there is some truth in the saying as you age your tastes change.