Ah, glamour—I’ve always admired it from afar, but it’s never something I thought I could approach. After all, high-heeled shoes turn me into a walking disaster zone, and I don’t have an elegant bone in my body. There are women—and men—who seem to be effortlessly glamorous. They amaze me. I love the old musicals, the screen sirens of the Forties and the Fifties. I fawned over Marilyn Monroe in Gentleman Prefer Blondes—that pink dress with the elbow-length pink gloves. The diamonds! The perfect lipstick! I used to be a mere lurker on glamour’s glittery train, but I am slowly creeping nearer to its sparkly bosom. Shh—don’t frighten it away.
Last night I went dancing at the Century Ballroom, a treasure on Seattle’s Capitol Hill. It’s a place I’ve long wanted to venture. What elegance! What style! A stage at one end frames the musicians under a magnificent proscenium arch. Gilded mezzanines circle the dance floor. Best of all, there was swing dancing.
Ah, swing dancing—another treat I’ve been promising myself a long time. I’ve wanted to learn it ever since I was a kid watching those Hollywood extravaganzas. I was enamored of Lucille Ball doing the half-blind jitterbug with Ricky’s band. I love the clothes; I love the music. Most of all I love the way the dancers move together, spinning and kicking, having fun. It is silly and gorgeous at the same time—the perfect dance for me. Past relationships didn’t allow for dancing, so I put my swing dreams to the side. I’m taking them back.
Last night was a mix of music, so I Cajun two-stepped, waltzed and even managed some line dancing. And man, did I fake a mean East Coast swing with some other dancers! We twirled and swished in our skirts—we bounced, laughed and waved our arms in the air in a spirit of joyful play. We flashed our fedoras and kicked up our heels. We got the spirit of swing, if not the steps. I plan to take some classes soon—then I’ll have both.
Glamour best look over its shoulder. I’m getting ever closer. And last week the girl who never used to wear makeup found the perfect mascara. Can my first tiara be far behind?
Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
30. Is there an activity you’ve always watched with a covetous eye but never tried? Start sneaking up on it.