Middle-Aged Moves

Deflecting Dancing Disasters

By Rochelle Lockridge

I had been planning for this night for a year. I’d practiced and practiced, knew my stuff, and was ready to dance a West Coast Swing solo with my private instructor at the Dancers Studio Fall Showcase. Then disaster struck. The hostess at the hotel spilled ketchup all over my white outfit. I ran back to the room, found the room key in my pocket and frantically began pulling together a new outfit for the performance. In the background I hear the music playing for one of my friends, who is obviously already out on the dance floor performing her own solo routine. I find a new top and a pair of gold pants that I can just barely squeeze into. "This will have to do," I say to myself. I see that I’m not wearing any jewelry and quickly realize I’d left it at home. I run back to the waiting area and to my horror- I'd forgotten my pants! I check the dance schedule and was met with an overly complicated cross-referenced table where I was designated as an A/B in one location and an upside down "T" in another, which I was supposed to use to identify which heats I was scheduled to dance in. Losing my cool, I angrily blurt out, "Just tell me when I’m supposed to dance! I need to know if I have time to go back to my room and get my pants." Then poof I wake up. It was just a nightmare! Thank God I don’t have to actually figure out that insane dance table. The real showcase isn’t until this evening and the program will clearly indicate when I will be dancing. Oh…and Rochelle? Don’t forget your jewelry. While we’re at it, anything else you need to remember? Perhaps a checklist is in order?

Feelings of panic still racing through my body, I decide it would be fun to share my disaster dream with my fellow showcasers with a quick text:

8:30 am- To: L, J, M & G: Big nightmare! Hotel lady spilled ketchup all over my dance costume. Had to rush back to room to get new one. Ran back… put new outfit together. Ran back to show in progress, forgot pants, couldn’t figure out complicated call sheet to see when I was on and whether I could go back and get my pants. Thankfully* woke up relieved it was all a dream & didn’t have to panic anymore.

L: LOL. I thought your outfit was gone. Can’t wait to see it. I am really nervous about tonight. What time are you going over to studio?

Me: I’m going early at 5pm to warm up. Troy usually starts his 10 min. warm ups for each lady at 6pm. I didn’t know how many ladies he had this time so I wanted to be there plenty early to be sure he had time to dance with me before the show.

J: #showcase nightmares. You poor girl!

M: Wow, that one was a doozey \=D/ the old, oh my god I don’t have any pants on dream!

G: Hahahaha. Too funny. You got me panicking thinking the show was yesterday and I missed it. Hahahaha. I’ve been up since 5 couldn’t sleep. Better than dreaming I guess. Banana. I meant hahahahaha

Me: LOL! (On banana too) Sorry about that. I woke up at 3 and couldn’t get back to sleep until 6. I just woke up from the nightmare.

G: The lot of us!!!! I bet M and K are cool calm and collected. We’ll have to ask them!!!!!

Me: M seemed a bit panicked last night. Her dress was too low in the front and she was still practicing new routines. K was calm though. Doing only a social round and WCS solo like me.

G: Bless their hearts both of them.

Wow. I hadn’t expected such a response from everybody.

Although not usually combined, no pants and frantically trying to figure out where I’m supposed to be next are disturbing yet familiar nightmares. But shaking this one off wasn’t made any easier when I show up for my 10 a.m. hair appointment, check in with the front desk, and I’m nowhere to be found in the system. (Yes, this all really happened. No dream here. Another potential dancing disaster still lurking in the shadows of my mind.) The receptionist asks if I can hold on for a minute while she checks with my assumed stylist. I try to calm myself, "It’s okay Rochelle. Don’t panic. You can make something else work. But wait... what about these grey roots? They don’t fix so easily…" Crisis averted. The young woman returns with the good news that Deanna can squeeze me in between appointments if I’m okay with that. I assure her this is more than okay and that I had come prepared with my iPad anyway to write my monthly dance column (which was already a week late). I sit down to begin typing and discover my Bluetooth® keyboard is dead. No charger in sight, my ever-optimistic problem solving skills kick in. I’ll write it longhand with a borrowed pen and paper from the front desk. Two hours later, my column is underway, my roots are covered, my hair trimmed, straightened, styled and adorned with a jaunty set of crystals and I’m looking forward to what new adventures (or good column fodder) awaits me before the big night is over.

Me: New development. I get to my hair appointment and they don’t have me on their books. Panic averted when stylist says she’ll fit me in if I can take longer this morning.
All good stuff for this month’s column. I’m writing it while waiting for the next phase of hair appointment. What will the rest of the day hold? Stay tuned.

M: The thrills and chills of dancing! Good luck!

Except for losing my glasses somewhere in the house during the afternoon, (still haven’t found them) and obsessively checking to make sure that I didn’t forget my pants, the rest of my day turned out to be happily uneventful. But flirting with disaster is always in the air when it comes to dance day. Another lady lost (and later found) her glasses; a fellow dancer showed up with mismatched shoes; there was a giant bruise peeking out from under a very short rhythm dress and no spray tan on hand for a quick cover-up. Calm, cool and collected first-time showcase dancers were suddenly panic-stricken as they walked out onto the dance floor, then returned wondering if they’d even danced or not. Ladies so excited about watching their friends dance that they missed their own entrances and had to jump in on the next heat. A shoe caught in the hem of a gown was quickly removed and a waltz gracefully continued. And with no time allowed for a quick costume change, a smartly choreographed all black dance number was unexpectedly sporting a single white tie… oops. And there were undoubtedly more mistakes and forgotten choreography than any of us would admit to---my West Coast Swing solo among them. (Which I’ll report went well, even though we forgot the final dramatic Corte at the end.)

Disasters? Nah… Maybe panic, major and minor inconveniences, embarrassing and funny stories to tell later, but no real dancing disasters struck. We all survived---in spite of our nightmares and misadventures. If the bounty of support, camaraderie, talent, cheers, and smiles I also witnessed throughout our dance community was just a dream, that’s the kind of dream I never want to be woken from.