I went dancing tonight with Jules. Not ballroom, not latin, not ballet. But LeBop. Don’t know what LeBop is? Well neither did I… until tonight. LeBop is short for Modern Jive, sort of Lambada meets Dirty Dancing. I am the last person in the Universe to do something like this. I mean there’s taking someone out of their comfort zone and then there’s leaving someone in the desert with nothing but a bottle of lubricant. For the first half hour I felt like and looked like a complete moron as I tried to spin these girls and throw them away and make secret handshakes with them and do these moves that require some basic notion of your spatial awareness. Oh, and timing. Let’s not forget timing.

By the end of the class, my ability to spin a girl was a little better, but to be honest I had no idea what I was doing for most of the time. It was frustrating, but it was also fun in its own strange, whacky away. First off LeBop attracts many sexy ladies who I got to dance with. Most of them had to deal with my crapness and I ended up following their lead rather than the other way around. But all the girls were great, none of them gritting their teeth as I spun them the wrong way, or forgot my moves… again.

Jules, on the other hand, was quite amazing on the dancefloor – and sexy to boot.

And here I am, tired out of my mind, looking forward to going again in a couple of weeks. Even if I don’t get all the moves down pat LeBop has its own language with over 500 signs the man uses to indicate to the women what he’s going to do next. I’ve always wanted to learn a made-up, crazy dancing language.

So there, my first dancing adventure.

Sleep now.