2 pieds gauches

 

During the summer, pre-Covid our village held street dances weekly with a variety of live music and singers. People of all ages danced. 

We enjoyed watching the regulars. Among them, there was a man, my former neighbor who always came with his wife AND another woman. His wife was chunky: the other women was sleek. He alternated dances with them. Whatever the story is, it can't be as good as I've imagined.

There was a woman we called Hot Cheeks based on her short-short shorts. She and her partner were great dancers, although it was like they stepped out of a time machine which had been set to the 1960s.

Watching maybe 20-50 couples was fun.

After Covid, every Tuesday in place of the dance, there were dance lessons: line, salsa, etc.

The lessons are held in the square surrounded by homes, the former town hall that is now a music school and two cafés. 

Rick, Sherlock and I seated ourselves at a table and ordered our drinks. We chatted with a friend who was watching both her westie and the cafè owner's pup. Those two dogs are best buds, but Sherlock prefered to remain aloof.

The dance instructor was very clear in her instructions. About 20 people followed her.

I looked at Rick. He didn't want to join in.

I did want to. I did not awfully when it was moving front and back. Than there was this cross thingie with my left foot. Ooops.

The cross thingie with my other foot wasn't much better.

I decided that watching the pups and the other dancers was a far, far better way to go and returned to my table on what seemed like my two left feet.