Day 29: Greese Lightning

They say it takes two to tango. Marrying a blind man has its ups and its downs. There's times where I am flying and challenging times that I never ever contemplated when I agreed to wedding my lovely gentleman.

When I was young I loved going to church dances and being twirled around the floor by the young men that would ask me to dance. I loved watching old movie musicals such as Singing  in the Rain and anything with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire and dreamed of a day when I would be swooned by a man with magical tapping feet and a firm hold. I loved to sing and music just makes me move all over. Being one of four girls, we all as sisters, seem to have the same daggy dance moves, like the girls out of the movie Muriel's wedding we were able to sing and dance to Abba like the best drag queens around. Every Monday night was family home evening night and this turned into a little girls concert night where the girls would sing , dance and perform in front of our parents and grandparents. We were little confident Divas in the making. 

High school dance group. The Blindmans wife middle back. Performing to Janette Jackson's Rhythm Nation

Diana Ross and The Supremely Tackies at a rehearsal for our performance at a Church concert

 Deano on the other hand not ever being able to see others dance always had a little bit of a complex about his moves on the dance floor. I happen to think his grooves are not too bad but I do end up with a slight hip ache doing the left and right shuffle on the dance floor when it comes to slow dancing.  

I have to take my hat off to him though,  when we were newlyweds he organised a few dates where we took dance classes,  albeit jive classes, we did try to get down and boogie in a semi coordinated fashion. We only took a few lessons until I relented that this blindman dances to his own beat. Not to mention that the dance instructor was frustrated with me and my left foot shenanigans and my uncontrollable urge to lead him around the floor. 

So for the past 25 years I have been the lead as I duck and weave my husband through the dancing crowd at church balls. My sore hip and aching feet have been a great excuse for me to get him to give me a massage when we get home. Whilst being swept of my feet like Sandy from Greece by Danny's grooving moves, I have sadly come to accept it's never going to happen in this life. I will settle for a man who's hands are his gifts and although he can't use them to twirl me around the dance floor as I had once imagined, he gives a awesome massage and that's gotta be better than anything John Travolta could do!