Or so says Frank Sinatra.
John couldn’t find a better way to show me how much he loves me.
“Sometimes I feel like my feet aren’t connected to the rest of my body,” he tells me. “You mean I have to move my arms AND my feet and the same time?” he asks.
Two to three times a week, for the past four weeks John and I have been taking private ballroom dancing lessons. This was our deal. John wanted a big wedding; I wanted to elope. So I agreed on a huge bash, and he agreed to a swing band and dancing lessons.
Why men are so averse to learning to dance is beyond me. Don’t they know that women love a man who can dance? Don’t they know that dancing is making love to music?
John threw himself whole-heartedly into the lessons. He signed us up for the maximum number we could possibly attend before our wedding. He bought a book on ballroom dancing that he reads at breakfast and before bed. He brings his video camera and tripod to each of our lessons so that he can capture what we’re learning.
I know this doesn’t come easily to him. And I’m simply amazed at his patience and perseverance. I certainly know how much he loves me.