Went to school-organised ballroom dancing lessons with older guys from Catholic boys’ school. By J’s reckoning, most of the guys from the school who caught her train were hot, so I figured a little investigating myself wouldn’t hurt… DD was complaining that it was too late and no one would end up getting any sleep blahdiblahdiblah and only let me go after I threw a hissy fit and slammed the door. MD and DD have this freakishly old-fashioned point of view where they’d probably be happiest if I started dating in my mid-twenties and only then to find a suitable husband, (and be a virginal bride – HA) so I think they reckon I’m not interested in guys and am wanting to go to the ‘ballroom dancing classes’ specifically for the ‘ballroom dancing’. Thank God for the little things, eh?

There are about twenty-five of us, and we’re told to wear comfortable clothes and shoes we can dance in. So we all rock up in our denim miniskirts and tank tops and Converse sneakers, and then we realise that along with the gals from our school, they’ve also got about fifty other girls from the Catholic boys’ sister school (let’s call them the starry-eyed chicks for now). And they’re all a year older than us, wearing full-on makeup, party outfits and teetering around on their fuck me shoes. And they all seemed to know the Catholic boys. Great. Add that to traditional ‘gels school’ rivalry and the fact that theirs is a school that thrashes us every time we play interschool sport with them and the night began to look like it was going downhill.

However, on closer inspection the Catholic boys looked preeeetty promising… The ratio of hot to not was about 3:1 so must I say our flirting opportunities were taken to the max? And how hot (and TALL!) were the hot ones… They lined the girls up in a row and the guys in another and partnered us all up to teach us the three-step. And did I get a spunk! TALL. Tanned. Blue eyes and ruffled messy blond hair (raked through with gel and must’ve taken ages to perfect but hey, it sure as hell pays off). And an absolutely gorgeous smile to top it off. Totally my kind of guy. Imagine my disappointment when I realised he already had a girlfriend, one of the starry-eyed chicks there on the night in fact. Bummer.

I did get to dance with most of the other really hot guys though, and some unhot ones thrown into the mix as well. And J and I both noticed that it was the hot guys who could dance and the others who… well, couldn’t. Most of the guys would smile and say hi, I’m Daniel/John/Michael/whatever, but there were some really unsociable ones who looked like their mother forced them to go and did not make any effort whatsoever to make the experience an enjoyable one. There was this one skinny little blond shit with spiked hair and sunglasses (indoors – never a good sign) who spent his whole time trying to come on to the starry-eyed chick next to me and totally ignored me, so that was really pissing me off. And you know what the scary thing is? Three years ago he would’ve been my type of guy.

And then there was the hot wog who could dance! As I saw what he was wearing (gold chain, pinkie ring, T-shirt opened to reveal chest hair – hmm) I was a bit apprehensive that he would be one of the ones who are completely up themselves. But you know what? He was really nice, which just goes to prove that you should never judge someone by what they’re wearing. (Like G from our school who always seems to look not quite right; she turned up to the class in grandmother slacks and a top that revealed two-thirds of her cleavage – ew) And when we were doing the cha-cha, he was actually dancing instead of just shifting his feet back and forth in rhythm. And guys who can dance are incredibly sexy in my books.

Can you tell I’m looking forward to next week’s class?

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