Four left feet

“I want to stand with you on a mountain…”

My immediate reaction to the sound was this: “Who the hell has that annoying song as a ringtone?”

Turned out that it was me.

My husband, in a pique of romance changed my ringtone to our wedding song.

It wasn’t our choice.

It went down like this…

Four days before the “I do” section of our marriage, I woke up, sat bolt upright in bed and shook my husband-to-be rudely awake.

“The dance”, I hissed.

“What dance?”

“THE dance. The wedding dance!”

“I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I.”

“Oh shit.”

Some frantic flipping through the Yellow Pages (yes, they still printed them then) and we found a dance instructor willing to give us 4 days of intense instruction.

The poor man.

Even now, after all these years, my heart aches for him.

Four left feet arrived for dance class and proved that despite what people say, everyone cannot dance.

We found it quite funny.

He did not.

He was dumbfounded. We weren’t so much uncoordinated as discombobulated with all four feet doing completely different dances.

I think we were the biggest challenge of his career.

After watching us trip over our own feet and each other’s for a bit, he sighed, a deep heartfelt sigh and got down to business.

We were to learn the rumba.

It’s a square, how badly could we mess it up?

To our credit, and his, we managed to get the steps sorted out even if we did have to count each step out aloud. 1 and 2 and whatever comes after that.

We’d made it through 2 days with no music.  

On day 3, there was still no music.

We unanimously hated every piece of music we could do the rumba too.

At that stage of our lives we were more likely to be waving glow sticks at an underground rave in an abandoned warehouse then prancing through a ballroom.

Boy bands were (and still are) objects of intense derision.

After witnessing the rejection of every contemporary rumba song in 2000, the dance instructor finally blew his fuse.

We weren’t really surprised. We were more amazed that he had kept it together for so long.

It was also less than 12 hours to the wedding.

He presented, as a fait accompli, Savage Garden’s ‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’.

We were told, in no uncertain terms, that we would be dancing to this song.

We cringed, but succumbed.

Our first married dance went off okay, we counted all the steps under our breaths, did a twirl or two and avoided the stifled giggles from our friends at the choice of music.

It was also the longest song of our lives.

And, now it’s apparently my ring tone.

For better or worse, right?

It could have been worse. He could have made us dance to Dolly Parton’s “Islands in the Stream”.

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