I am not the dancer of the family. While Kate can bellydance like no other, and Clare can catch on to dance moves crazy fast, I got put in the front row of show choir because I smile. After weeks of practice I would finally realize that at this point in the song you go-wait! let me think, let me think-oh yes, left, and next you go right. Suffice to say, I had everything down by the performance, but it really was my stage presence and ever beaming face that got the judges to like me.
And so when the Winter Cotillion rolled around this past Saturday, I was not to hopeful about my chances of dancing. The Cotillion is an annual tradition here, complete with six classical dances and dance cards for the ladies. I knew only the waltz (barely) and the swing as I walked into the room on my smallest heels (which still got me to about 6 feet in height). Somehow I knew that I wasn’t going to find a plethora of willing partners. But, I felt better standing next to my friend, Katie.
And of course, we had to get a picture in with our friend, Meghan, fellow cross country runner and tall girl.
I eventually did ditch my heels, and hit the dance floor. Somehow I found at least three guy friends (none of whom actually knew how to dance either) taller than me, and of course the ever-faithful Killian to go out there with me. The people who did know how to dance were magnificent, and the ones who didn’t were just as fun.
It was a night filled with laughter and music. I may not have had a full dance card by the end of the night, but I did come away with a new appreciation for the waltz and tango and a new sympathy for the girls of Jane Austen’s time. It was truly a night to remember.