Not (just) your grandma’s dance
I’m a little nervous as I step out of my car. “What if I’m no good at it? What if I make a complete fool out of myself?” It’s dark – about 8:30 p.m. – so Molly can’t see my distressed expression.
I don’t even know why I’m here; I must be one of those foolish dancers who will do anything to impress their new choreographer. “I’ve never enjoyed things like this before. Why would I now?” I think to myself. With my friend by my side we walk through the doors of the Minneapolis Eagle’s Club. I’m about to have the time of my life being swung and tosses around by complete strangers.