79: Countryfied Chick

79: Countryfied Chick

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Time to Thrive

Countryfied Chick

There are shortcuts to happiness, and dancing is one of them.

~Vicki Baum

It was a typical Friday night, me on the bed in my finest gray flannel pajamas, popcorn at the ready while a murder mystery blared on the TV. My husband, on the other hand, was stationed comfortably on the rather inappropriately named love seat in the living room, wearing a faded Sasquatch T-shirt, TV tray filled with potato chips and Vienna sausage, absorbed in a monster show he’d recorded earlier on the DVR. Very romantic.

The next week, my husband announced he’d be going out of state for a few months for work. Following his departure, I caught the Country Music Awards on TV. Those women looked so beautiful. A couple of days later, I received an e-mail announcing some upcoming continuing ed classes at the nearby community college. One in particular caught my eye — line dancing. I must have been inspired by the awards show, so I said what the heck and I signed up.

Now, I was nervous. What had I done? I was in my fifties and hadn’t danced since disco was in, decades ago. To say I was anxious would be an understatement.

I imagined my teacher would look like a country western star. Instead, he was a little on the short side, pudgy with snow-white hair, and wore glasses. If it had been December, I would have jumped on his lap and given him my Christmas list. Instead, I decided to let this jolly elf show me what he knew about country line dancing. And, to my surprise, it was quite a bit. In spite of outward appearances, the guy had some moves.

The class was comprised of eighteen mostly menopausal ladies and two brave guys. Our instructor asked each of us to go around the room, sharing why we wanted to learn country line dancing. The younger man, a twenty-something my son’s age, was there to learn some moves to impress the ladies at the honky-tonks. The older gentleman, closer to my age, was there so he could take his wife out dancing on their anniversary. How sweet. The rest of the middle-aged mamas were there to learn something new, get some exercise, and have some fun at the same time.

The class was only supposed to last an hour, but we were enjoying ourselves so much that we went over by thirty minutes. I hadn’t laughed, or sweat, so much in years. I couldn’t wait for the next class.

In between classes, our teacher posted the dance steps on YouTube so we could practice, which I did for nearly an hour every day. It was so much fun, the time flew by. Little by little, my jeans started loosening, and I needed to buy a smaller size. Of course, you can’t do country line dancing without wearing cowboy boots, so I bought a pair of those too.

During the sessions, we learned all sorts of dances, like Tush Push and Wobble. My husband was coming home soon, and I was eager to show off my new dance moves. When he finally arrived, the delighted look on his face said it all. He couldn’t take his eyes off me, told me I looked great, and asked what I’d been up to since he’d been away. Instead of telling him, I demonstrated my best moves.

As he unpacked, I noticed a new pair of red and black size fourteen cowboy boots. Apparently, my husband had been learning some dance moves of his own. That Friday night, we went out dancing. Friday nights were never the same again.

~Tamara Moran-Smith

You are currently enjoying a preview of this book.

Sign up here to get a Chicken Soup for the Soul story emailed to you every day for free!

Please note: Our premium story access has been discontinued (see more info).

view counter

More stories from our partners