Big Yellow Taxi

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

I think I have successfully given the least welcome of my swing suitors the brush off.

The Chief was MIA at swing for much of the summer. Much to his vexation, he was forced to travel the globe without me at his side and in his bed. I was truly grateful to get a vacation from the cantankerous jitterbug who just can’t seem to grasp that he’s not getting any younger and not getting any of my younger flesh! Well, summer’s over, my gentle readers, and my Chief is back with a vengeance.

Since The Chief has been away, I have experienced tremendous personal swing growth. I’ve really begun to discover and, on my good days, master the upper body frame required to become a true lindy hop proficient. In some ways, frame is more than the steps. Good frame gives you the confidence, balance, elegance and strength to be led in almost any move with ease. When my frame is solid, I feel confident, feminine, and sexy. I become a more desirable dance partner- the type of partner the less advanced dancers are too intimidated to approach. Except, of course, The Chief.

That man dragged me around the floor for three straight dances of hell last week. He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s a solid dancer, despite the fact that he’s woefully out of practice and constantly stopping in the middle of a dance to restart like he’s a fucking PC. It would be one thing if he danced a single dance with me and then walked away, opening me up to the invitations of other far superior dancers. But he not only selfishly keeps me in a death grip for dance after dance without so much as asking me if I’d like to continue, but, to add insult to injury, he also attempts to blame me for most of his chronic blunders. The Chief needed to wake up to the fact that I’m simply not the same broken-hearted, spaghetti-spined girl he used to know. Clearly, I was the only one who could deliver this message.

It was during our fateful third dance together last week that The Chief tripped over his own jowls and had the audacity to spew, “Hey, you’re supposed to turn the other way. God, you can’t do anything tonight.” With the chorus of Kelly Clarkson’s Since You Been Gone playing in my head and the venom of a black mamba rattle snake slithering through my voice, I said what I would not dare say to any other man on the floor:

I could do it, if you could lead it.

Oh, snap! I said it and we both new I meant it. The Chief’s face suddenly tightened. Just as we finished dancing, I forcefully withdrew my hand and started to inch away from him, delivering my usually more courteous thanks. To my surprise, he began to reach out to lay claim to yet another dance. I think I visibly flinched, because his face reddened as he ferociously tore into me, “I guess you think you’re pretty good. Sorry for ruining your night!” And with that he fled the scene on a Vespa with his tail between his legs.

I instantly felt guilty. My friends tell me this type of behavior is necessary sometimes. A girl’s gotta be tough to get certain guys off her back. But, despite my sarcastic tendencies and the existence of this tell-all-blog, I hate to hurt anyone’s feelings. Regardless, what’s done is done. I did what I had to do.

The Chief didn’t show up to the studio this week. I found myself wondering if he’d ever come back. As you know, I haven’t seen Norman Nurman around at all either. Grisly Adam blew out his knee and is most likely married. And worst of all, Apple Guy has gone away on vacation to Asia (duh…) for weeks. Apple Guy has become my dating mentor and one of my best city friends. Dancing with him is like curling up on the couch in my favorite pajamas. It’s familiar, warm, generous, and missed.

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?

Before you get out the violin (or acoustic guitar as it were) and tissues, I should tell you I had a blast at swing this week. All new amazing dancers and the temporarily partnerless father-to-be Vladymir of The Russian Clan cut a rug with me. Peggy brought stunning wedding hat creations she was working on for a little show-and-tell on the side lines. And in true Sara Swing fashion, I entertained all my swing friends with tales of my online dating adventures. I’ve let my dating phobia get the best of me in the past, but by taking my fears to the web, suddenly I am the master of my own romantic destiny. This novice dater has become a dating machine! Ok, honesty, I’m already making plans to slow down and simplify, but, in the meantime, there will be flirting and there will be kissing and there will be absolutely no regrets.

Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Ciao,

-Sara