Are you kidding me?

So about two weeks ago, my dance partner, Martin calls me on a Tuesday and tells me that we are scheduled to do a show that very next day for 300 people at a networking party. The floor show had cancelled on them and needed a replacement at the last minute. Okay- so we needed routines ASAP. We hacked out some fairly simple routines in 1 ½ hours in between the two of us teaching lessons.

My Wednesday was to go as follows:
7:00 am Get ready for work
8:00 am Take Thomas to Mom & Dad’s
9:00 am Go to work
6:00 pm Teach dance lesson
6:00 pm Teach dance lesson
8:00 pm Get ready for & travel to show
9:00 pm Show

Because I wasn’t going to have time to come back home after work, I had to get all of my dance stuff together that morning. So, in my rush gathering all of the dance supplies necessary and trying to get it all out to the car, I slipped and fell down my stairs. Yes, that’s right. The “graceful dancer” fell down. I’m so thankful that I didn’t have Thomas in my arms as well as all of the flotsam and jetsam. It was not a pretty fall, and not one that I could have saved, though I tried valiantly. The main point of impact was on the side of my left thigh. My left elbow also took a blow. My right hand got mangled as I reached out to grab the banister. My right shoulder was tweaked from the jolt of my momentum changing so rapidly. To add insult to injury- with my right hand holding onto the banister acting as the fulcrum of a pendulum, my body swung back and I cracked my head on the banister as well. Not to mention my right thigh hitting it too.

Thomas was sitting at the top of the stairs and said, “Mama. Bonk.” Yes. Mama went bonk. I won’t lie, I was in pain, and I cried. I’m not sure if the tears were from pain, shock or HOLY COW I HAVE A SHOW TONIGHT AND A BUM LEG!!!

I limped through the day at work. I called Martin and told him the story. He offered to teach my classes for me. I showed up at the studio and had a few personal trainers look at my leg. The bruise that was forming was- Technicolor. They ran out and got me an Ace bandage to wrap my leg with. They were afraid that I had done some minor muscle damage. It was pretty well crushed. It hit the edge of the stair.

My students were so sweet. They didn’t mind me just “watching” our lessons. I bit the bullet and practiced a little bit, though I limped. I knew I had 300 people expecting a professional ballroom show, and I was going to give it to them. I danced more than I should have, and I relied on adrenaline to keep me going. This is where it gets good. What more could happen you say? I’ll tell you.

We drove to the address we were given and it was Mi Ranchito Restaurant across from the South Towne Expo Center. It was literally a fiesta. No joke. They have a Latino networking Christmas party where people in the Latin community who have businesses can set up little booths there at the restaurant and sell stuff to each other and spread the word about their businesses. We were told 300 people at 9:00 pm on Wednesday night. Because it was a weeknight, almost everyone had left all except 13 people. The floor was tiled. It is nearly impossible to dance standard dances on tiled floor. (Waltz, Tango, Foxtrot, Viennese Waltz & Quickstep) Say you are taking a heel lead forward and your heel catches in the groove of a tile. Your foot is no longer traveling forward, but sideways down the track the tile has created. The last thing I needed was to fall down again.

We taught a 3 minute salsa lesson to the 13 people. As the music was still playing, a little old man whose head only came up to my chin, with bow legs, a hunch back and didn’t speak a word of English grabbed me and danced the life out of me. He was serious about this dance. I don’t know if he had his Senora sitting on the sidelines and he wanted to show her that he still had his groove or what. But it was like he was dancing to prove something. It was hilarious. I had a hard time keeping up with him. The music graciously stopped eventually and we said gracias to one another. I hobbled off the dance floor to take a seat by Martin’s brother in law. “You just got taken for one hell of a ride! I wish I had my video camera with me! That’s great black mail material!”

I found Martin and told him we were going now. No show. I wasn’t going to risk what was left of my once able body for 13 people who weren’t even interested and were packing up their wares to go home. Martin was forced to enter our names into the “raffle”. Martin won. He got a cake from one of the Latino bakeries. I got caught by an older guy who had a million things to say to me that had no meaning whatsoever. It was excruciating. It was all, “Have you heard of this? Do you know that? I know so and so. Did you know them?” GAH! No- I don’t know them or that or care! Let me go home cause if I stand on my leg for one more moment I’m going to pass out!!! Not to mention that the Mexican Polka music was so loud that you had to shout to be able to hear each other. I was eventually able to excuse myself as again, the brother in law is gathering more potential black mail material while standing behind this gentleman laughing his butt off because he can see my struggle to remain polite.

Since dinner had been omitted from my schedule for the day, we went to the Oyster Bar afterwards and had some soup and the cake Martin won. It wasn’t half bad. Memories were made that night. We’ll always be able to look back and say, “Remember when we showed up to that fiesta?” I know I’ll always remember Don Quasimodo and the “ride” he took me on.