Tuesday night the ear doctor and I went down to Denver to go swing dancing. Just in case none of you knew it, my boyfriend is one of the best swing dancers around. In his undergrad he was on the college swing team and went around doing shows and all that kind of stuff. Very hardcore.
Anyway, since we started dating he has patiently taught me how to do it and now, almost a year later, I'm getting decent.
Back to my story. Tuesday we show up and the dance floor is pretty sparse, which is good in swing. Less people to bump into. Less people bumping into you.
I was wearing some new pants that were very cute; dark with pinstripes making me feel quasi-20's-era-gangster. We're dancing the night away and things are really clicking. I've stopped worrying about how I look and I'm just dancing for the fun of it.
The ear doctor takes a step back and spins me around fast. I prep for the turn, but a split second later I find myself face down on the floor in push-up position.
Yep, that's me. My cute pants were my demise. Somehow a corner of fabric found itself caught under my shoe and sent me hurtling off kilter down to the floor.
The funny thing was that I really wasn't embarrassed at all. I couldn't care less because I landed somewhat gracefully. Nothing but my feet and hands touched the ground. I was so impressed with my cat-like reflexes and ability to fall without totally injuring myself that I considered it a credit to my skillz.