dance with me, my old friend

Last night, at Le Colonial, I arrived a few minutes before JG and her dude. Did I retreat to the waiting area, a perfectly nice parlor with pretty trees and heat lamps? Of course not. I barreled upstairs to the bar. When I got up there, I immediately thought of maisnon, and of how much I would have loved this scene just five years ago. A swing band was playing old standards, and a handful of couples were showing off lindy circles and rock steps and west coast footwork. Me, I was delighted to find Charbay at the bar. Then, like the wallflower that I really am inside, I stood at the side of the wall, observing.

I enjoy watching people dance together. The sloppy ones, the happy ones, the snappy ones, all of them. Last night, there were two guys who were clearly ringers. One was young, the other a fossil. There's something I have noticed about young guys who can dance well: they tend to know it. A young guy who's a well-versed swing dancer will move his partner around the floor expertly, gliding effortlessly. But he looks a bit removed, seems ever so slightly detached. There was an air of "whatever, man, I'm so on top of this beat" going on in the young dude last night. His eyes connected with his partner from time to time, he smiled politely, but then he would glance away, lost in his own mind.

The old man who dances well is a different character altogether, and I'll admit to being partial to fossils in this particular instance. I noticed it more clearly last night. The skills between these two dancers is just about the same. But the old man is no longer interested in showmanship, no longer about patting himself on the back. Oh, the old man does not hold back the moves. Some of his fancy footwork made me think of Fred Astaire. But what made him so swoonworthy was his face. The man was overjoyed. He was happy to be there, dancing, soaking up the music, but he was also thrilled to be dancing with a woman. His eyes were never on his feet, never on the scene, always on his partner. And the woman, who was obviously not unfamiliar with having attention, was loving it. This old man could have led her into the dining hall or the kitchen, and she would have followed him, so connected was she to him. He did this with woman after woman, and each time, the woman looked like she had just been awarded a diamond-crusted tiara.

We women, we love a good dose of undivided attention.