Bailamos

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The single most embarrassing moment of my younger years took place my Junior year of high school. All the third and fourth year Spanish language students got to go on a field trip to Penn State College to see a Spanish dance exhibition.

We were all told to dress nicely, because this was considered to be a classy event. Now I was always a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but for this I hauled out my four-tiered, rose-colored prairie skirt, with a ruffled off-the-shoulder shirt to match, and platform sandals that added about three inches to my height. I figured I would just be sitting and watching the show, so it did not matter that I could barely walk in the things.

I managed to wobble from the bus to my seat, and settled in to watch the show. It was a small troupe of men and women dancers and they put on a beautiful show. I'd gotten a front row seat and had a great view, but after what happened next, I never took a front row seat again at any event!

You see, for the finale of the show, the men and women came down into the audience for volunteers to join them in the final dance. They just started grabbing people by the hand and leading them up on stage. My classmates were all yelling and waving their hands, but for some ungodly reason, this young, cute, Spanish dancer grabbed my hand and pulled me up to the stage. To this day, I wonder what in the world he was thinking to pick me!

Now there are two things you need to know about me. First, I was a chubby girl and had never so much as slow danced with a guy, much less tried a dance that required any grace or skill. Second, I am so introverted that I cannot speak in front of two people, much less attempt to dance in front of an auditorium filled with a few hundred.

So there I was, feeling like a great clumsy ox, stumbling up the stairs to the stage following this graceful, gorgeous little man. We stood near the back and then he had to show me where to put my hands, because I was clueless. I looked up and saw the audience and my stomach started to churn.

Then the music started, and, of course, it had to be something really fast. I struggled to keep up with him, and to avoid stepping on his feet, or twisting an ankle in those horrible shoes. I think the fact that I did not was mostly his doing. He was a very good dancer!

We kept spinning around and around in circles, weaving in and out of the other couples. I kept getting more queasy with each spin about the stage and each glimpse of the audience. I know I was white as a sheet and the poor man asked me if I was "enfermo". I nodded yes.

He danced us off the stage behind the curtains where I ran to the nearest trashcan and was violently ill. He was very kind about it, but I was mortified. There's nothing quite as embarrassing as vomiting in front of someone you find adorable!

After I was done, he asked if I was able to go back out and finish the dance, or if I wanted to sit back down. I agreed to go back out. He talked to me in Spanish the whole time we danced. Trying to translate in my head kept my mind off the audience, and I managed to complete finish without further embarrassment. All of us bowed at the end and they brought out roses to present to the women while the audience applauded. I snatched mine and practically ran off the stage.

No one in my class realized I had been sick, but I did get some teasing about vanishing backstage with the dancer. It's been nearly 20 years, and I still blush when I think about it. Although, if it hadn't been for the audience and the sickness, I think I would have really enjoyed the experience. The dance itself was quite fun!

Oh, and just a little addendum here--I got a few emails complimenting me on my bravery in completing the dance. Believe me--there was nothing brave about it! I had the choice of finishing the dance and hoping only the few people in my class noticed that I had briefly vanished, or walking across the front of the auditorium and having the entire audience know that I had screwed up somehow! So I simply took the less scary of the two options!