There are, apparently, a few kinds of male dance lesson partners, as I learned last night when we went dancing at the Edgewood Club. 
We went for an hour of dance lessons, which--to our surprise--involved rotating partners constantly. So here are a few of the types I identified:
- The Counter: Adorably staying on task, he repeats the instructions ("slow, fast-fast, slow, fast-fast") the instructors give. I enjoy his earnestness and that he has a sense of rhythm; the particular Counter with whom I danced last night wasn't so consumed with counting that he also ignored me, though I can see how this could be a problem.
- The Doesn't-Really-Have-a-Partner: He looks right past his partner--not at her feet, not her eyes, not her shoulders, not her hands. As if looking at her would be some kind of penalty. Perhaps his insanely jealous wife is watching him from across the room. I don't know.
- The Pouncer: He's looking for someone to take dancing next weekend, and the weekend after that, so he's testing you--both your dancing skills and maybe more.
- The Fascist: He's not leading; he's yelling. "Put more pressure on my shoulder! When I do this, you're supposed to spin! Don't listen to them--let ME lead! Don't hold your hand so high--you're not pumping a well!"
Now, you'll notice that I identified these as the dance lesson partners. When the hour of lessons ended, and the people who knew how to dance came out on the floor, a different population of men dominated the floor. Men who know how to dance make me swoon. They have an air of confidence, of fun, humor, ease, and comfort in their own bodies and with handling the world around them. I am not speaking of some young hunky guys, either. The men who were most fun for me to watch were the ones who were having the best time and exuding the greatest confidence, trying new things and eliciting the greatest laughs from their partners. Many were old enough to be my grandfathers, a few were probably college or graduate students, and there were plenty in between. The ethnic, socioeconomic, and age variations in this crowd were actually pretty remarkable, and these groups are all over town--this was just one Sunday-night crowd in the end of January. But with a $7 cover charge to hear a live band, who wouldn't go?
Well, the answer is us, for a while at least. I felt criticized and intimidated enough that we've decided to start with beginner ballroom dance classes through our local community college (10 1.5-hour sessions for $65!) and practicing at home before we try this place again. Screw the Fascist. I'll pump a well if I want to. And if you want to lead, LEAD. Don't dictate. It's dancing, for God's sake, not brain surgery. It's supposed to be fun.
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