Friday, February 1, 2019

Dances with Mothers

For more than half a year now, Peter has been disappearing on Friday nights to go to a dance course. In Germany, this is traditional for kids his age. It culminates in a big fancy schmancy event in the City Hall - somewhat similar to a prom, except that for some reason parents are allowed to attend.

It's a big deal and you definitely can't go alone. Shortly before Christmas, Peter finally mustered up the courage to ask Momo, a girl in his dance class, to go to the ball with him. Her 'yes' resulted in two months of preparing and by preparing, I of course mean freakin' the freak out.

'I don't have a suit that fits! Aaaaggghh!'

'A tie?! I don't have a tie! I don't even know how to tie a tie. Aaaaggghh!'

'These shoes don't match my suit! Aaaaggghh!' 

'My hair is too long! Aaaaggghh!' 

'Flowers! We need to order the bouquet! Aaaaggghh!

Me handing him a brown paper bag and asking him to breath in it did not calm him down as much as I thought it would. My wallet helped, though, and Peter acquired a complete new wardrobe that he will undoubtedly outgrow in the next two months. It was worth it, though. He looked quite debonair and Momo looked exquisitely radiant. Our little baby's all growns up!

Shortly before the ceremony began, Peter asked if I knew any ball dances.

'Hell no. But when I was your age, I could breakdance with the best of them. I'll show you later, if you want.'

I ignored Peter's lack of a response and went to the bar to get two glasses of wine for me and one for Angie. When I got back, Peter had disappeared and we watched from the balcony as the festivities began.

Peter had explicitly forbidden me to take any pictures of him dancing with Momo. I can even understand this one. I've been known to be quite the pesky paparazzi when given the chance. Peter's mistake was not to include Mama on his black list of exclusions.   

'Hey, Peter! Over here! Come on! Show me them pearly whites!'

Peter kept ducking and weaving throughout the first dance. The next song began and Angie somehow got confused and thought that she was now Peter's new dance partner.

I changed tactics and moved to the balcony. I mean, come on - that's why zoom lenses were created, right?

'Hey, Peter! Up here! No, over here! Perfect! Great! Now I want you to be a TIGER!'

As the third song began, Angie once again offered her seasoned dancing services to Peter. For the second time tonight, he responded with a non-verbal gesture that said more than words ever should.

Unfortunately for Peter and, quite frankly, everyone else there, they did not play anything that I could breakdance to. At one point, though, they did play a version of 'The Macarena' that had my name written all over it.

I never made it to the dance floor, though. Like Batman, Angie appeared out of the shadows and forcibly convinced me to take her home, presumably so I could bust out me moves in the privacy of our own home.

'God no! I'd rather cook food than watch you do the Robot again.'

'Ouch! You really need to have Peter teach you the delicate art of communicating using only your face. He's really good at it.'
Ladder Talk: [No Ladder Talk tonight - Peter was busy dancing on Cloud 9 and David and Tom were spending the night at friends]
1) What was the best part of your day?

2) What was the worst part of your day?

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?