The other weekend, at adult Jewish sleepaway camp, I joined a group taking dance lessons from one of of the other campers. I ended up pairing up with the guy who was instructing us and, after we demonstrated a few steps for everyone else, he looked at me in surprise.
"Have you danced before?"
I laughed. No, I hadn't danced before - not really, anyway. (If you want photographic evidence of my skills at the one and only dance class I've ever taken, make sure to check Instagram later this morning.) I just love music and, luckily, years of counting beats from singing have given me a decent sense of rhythm. I never wanted to be a dancer when I was a little girl; I only wanted to know how to dance as much as would be necessary for my future career as a lounge singer, musical theatre star, or opera diva.
That's why you won't see my feet tapping against the plush red carpet at the Kennedy Center when I go to see The Washington Ballet's Swan Lake tomorrow, but you might catch me secretly conducting Tchaikovsky's classic score as the dancers whirl across the stage, my hands at my knees so not to distract my mother next to me, fingers gliding through adagio passages and picking out the woodwinds' notes at the beginning of the Dance of the Little Swans.
I'm not sure what I'll wear to the ballet, but if I could wear this dress maybe I'd change my mind about loving dance primarily for the music...