[Shakes] I’m practicing my Samba. That's my dream dance. It's not only the Party Dance, but it's my favorite dance to watch on DWTS. It's also the dance I’m going to choose when I win with the dance lesson with Tristan in the Dublin Down 330 raffle – even though I have never won anything in my life except for something from McDonalds 20 years ago. My luck is changing however. I know it. Dancing with Tristan is my destiny. Or maybe my destiny is to make an ass out of myself while dancing with Tristan, but no matter. I’m not afraid of failure, nor am I afraid of my always klutzy self making an appearance in front of the drop dead gorgeous Irish Dance Man. Nope, I’m a brave soul. I take chances. I take risks. I have no fear of failure.
Here’s the problem. I’m in decent shape I guess for somebody 312 years old and who has had a bunch of kids. I’m old enough to be Tristan’s mother, er, I mean older sister. I used to dance a lot. I could handle myself pretty well in a disco after I had a few adult beverages for fortification. I wore my short skirts, platform shoes, and bosom-baring tops with pride and could do The Bump better than anybody. So what does one wear to Samba with Tristan? I haven’t danced with anybody since 1983 when Laura Branigan was belting out “Gloria.” That was only a few years ago, right? I probably still have the moves. I do, however, need to make careful wardrobe decisions here. If I wear something too long in order to hopefully hide my figure flaws, my feet will get tangled up in my hem, I’ll topple over, taking Tristan down with me. He will probably either break his neck or sue me for damages, and then where would I be? Nope, no long dresses for me. Besides, isn't the Samba all about showing a little skin? It's party time, after all.
I thought about digging out my favorite short skirt and bosom-baring top from my disco days, but well, suffice it to say that gravity and 4 kids might have done irreparable damage to the physique that might make wearing such an outfit not only impossible but frightening as well. Hiring a personal trainer isn’t an option because all the extra cash has to go to the raffle. Or that pesky thing called college tuition. Or groceries. I remembered my favorite sequined top and leather skirt along with the ridiculously high shoes that had all kinds of ribbon that I intertwined up my calves – all of which made me look like, well, you get the visual. It wasn’t pretty then and is worse now. First of all I live barefoot, and when I have to wear shoes, I gravitate towards flip flops or my favorite Dr. Scholls’ wooden sandals. I can’t see me shimmying and Samba-rolling in my wooden sandals. One would fly off, smack Tristan in the head or elsewhere, cause him bodily harm, and voila. Another lawsuit.
Speaking of my Samba rolls, keep in mind that I have no clue how to do one of the most difficult moves in dance, so Tristan would have to teach me. Now considering the position that bodies take for this particular move, I can see me doing something with my backside that could cause irrevocable harm to his person, and that would be very unsettling for all concerned. Yep, lawsuit.
So what about something wild and funky for the Samba – something like Cheryl or Anna would wear. You know – lots of ruffles and feathers and low cut in the back far enough that you really wonder if a butt-viewing is inevitable. Nope,we don’t want that. Not with this post-4 kids a long time ago body. Then there are the cut-outs to show off my 8 pack. Um, or not. These abs haven’t made a public appearance in, oh, a long time. The mumu is out because I would only get one in neon orange and lime green with big red hibiscus all over it; once again, problems. The color combination would blind Tristan, he would drop me on my butt, cause an earthquake probably from that shock, and then he’ll sue. Again.
Let’s not forget the feathers on my costume. Dare I go there? First of all it would take way too many to cover my assets, and he’s most likely an environmentalist who finds it offensive to use feathers for decorative purposes, so that will annoy him. Then there’s my perfume. I go nowhere without my Estée Lauder Intense Pleasures. Wanna bet he’s allergic? There’s that whole anaphylactic shock thing, a trip to the emergency room to make sure Tristan is okay, and another lawsuit.
I’m just going to Samba in my sweatpants and sneakers. Or better yet, let somebody else win it. I’ll just sit in the floor and cry.
[SWAT] You know that every season there is that one celebrity who goes to meet their pro partner, and you just know that the pro is thinking “Ohhh cripes, I can't believe I got this one." Well my friends, I am sure that this is the sentiment Tristan's poor mind would echo if I ever won the raffle, and he got stuck with me.
I survived Zumba class and I thought that I was going to die then, and maybe this won’t be so bad. The Rumba is a pretty slow dance after all, and the slower the better. Anything to not attract attention to the fact that I jiggle when I jump up and down is a bonus.
You'd think that the dance of love and lust would be an easy thing for me....SWAT...the Lusty Wench Pirate Queen. But alas, having to act this way in front of Tristan would be a very difficult thing to do. First of all, it isnt exactly acting when you already think of Tristan as your ultimate fantasy man. It's easy to ACT like you are lusting over your partner in the Rumba, but when it comes down to it I'd probably start hiccuping or something out of nerves and then our Rumba would look like gorgeous Tristan and catatonic hiccuping SWAT. Oh yeah....now that's sexy. And would Tristan even want to incorporate the lust part into a dance lesson? It's not like we'd be rehearsing for an actual performance. So here’s the million dollar question - how far is too far when it comes to acting lust in a Rumba lesson?
I've been chasing after two high voltage toddlers for the past 4 years, you'd think I'd have a bangin' body to show off my Mommy superpowers. I couldn't have miscalculated on the thousands of calories I've burned wrangling my kids every day, could I? I'm always breaking a sweat. So what gives? Before I had my kids I was energetic and could actually do the splits. Now, post dual pregnancies I've traded those things in for adrenal fatigue, stretch marks and a mighty flattering Muffin Top. Aaahhhh the joys of middle aged motherhood.
I know I know I know, all ya'll are sitting there thinking about how jealous you are going to be of me when I win the raffle and get my dance lesson with Tristan. As much as I can understand it, please don’t lose too much sleep over this idea. I'm in no way the kind of girl that would be a threat to Tristan Fandom. I'm not a fabulous dancer, nor am I a Maxsim swimsuit model. I'm just your average woman who is going to do her best, try and have a laugh, and most likely hobble our poor Tristan in some klutzy way when I insist that we incorporate an aerial lift into our lesson. Okay, so maybe I am a threat to Tristan fandom...hobbling our boy wouldn't be a great way to make new friends. Yikes
The Rumba is fabulous because the costumes are generally flowing, and thus, I can hide what needs to be hidden. I know it seems like I'm obsessed with my tutus but I won't be wearing one to a Rumba lesson. I'd save that for the Samba. But the Rumba does seem to us a lot of draping sort of dresses, lots of silk and chiffon and flowing uh, stuff. Perfect for hiding muffin tops and wobbly bits and all of that. Which is why I'm going for a really classy yet colorful tunic style top and black pants. Yes my friends, SWA T is going to try to play it straight with this outfit. I don't want to scare poor Tristan with a tutu tube top.
Don't get me started on the shoes. Have I mentioned that I haven’t worn heels since my Senior year of high school? Well I'm mentioning it now. Seriously, the last time I wore heels I was 18 years old and sporting some sweet character shoes when I played Ado Annie in my small town's version of Oklahoma. Since then, I've definitely become a flip flops and flats sort of lady. So the thought of having to actually turn, spin, or do anything that requites walking a few steps in a pair of dance shoes scares the crap out of me.
Conclusion: The bottom line here is that we have agreed that both of us suck, neither can dance, neither can stand heels, and we will both look horrendous in whatever we wear. Also, there isn’t a chance in the world that either of us will win this thing because we are the most unlucky (not to mention klutzy) women ever. Shakes broke 3 toes once walking into a door that hadn’t moved since the previous day in her house, and SWAT showed great poise and grace while walking up the stairs – and falling down them. Then there’s the story about her slipping on a Crayon and ending up flat on her butt. Yeah, we are both elegant and graceful and equally perfect choices for a sexy Samba or a romantic Rumba with the best dancer and choreographer in the world. Yeah, that makes sense.