My mum invited me to go line dancing with her on a Monday night. Of course I laughed at her, but then I remembered that I'm a sucker for a dance routine and need the exercise, so I said 'yes'.
As we walk in to the local hall, mum introduces me to the girls - this is Fran, she’s a good one to copy as she always knows all the moves, this is Pat, she teaches these routines on a Thursday. We smile and say our hellos. "And don’t follow Rachel." I turn to the next lady ready to laugh with her at mum’s joke, when I see that she’s not laughing, she's mentally challenged. Mum's not joking, she's giving me advice. I choke a “Hi Rachel” and spend the rest of the class creasing up at mum's charming social skills.
So that's how I find myself, big grin on my face, step-ball-changing and toe-heeling with rows of ripe aged ladies, following a potbellied dude sporting a grey mullet and cowboy boots as he sashays around the stage in his Madonna style headset.
I love it. I don't know if it's the lame music, the concentrating hard on learning new routines, or watching the coordinated hips and elbows of the ladies all around me. But I tell you what, it makes me happy. So much so, I keep going back for more. Monday nights have never been so much fun.
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