Con Artist Mothers, Ballet Classes, Dance Contests, and the Perfect Wife

My last blog reminded me of the many times my mother bamboozled, tricked, or conned me. I am sure she would prefer changing the word "tricked" to beguiled or charmed, but let's just say that at times, all parents "pull a fast one" on a child, or a teacher will try to "sneak one over" on a student. Let's be honest. Where do you think they learn the art of deception?

The first time I realized my mother could and would circumvent the truth was when I was in the first grade. She got wind of a free ballet and tap dance class at the local city park, and having been crowned the Queen of Frugalia, she hauled me down there under the ruse of making me into a great football player. I was more interested in baseball, but she kept insisting it would make me a great football player. She suspected that I suspected that tap and ballet classes were for sissies, so she was peddling the manliest game she could think of on me, which at that tender age made no sense, so I was suspicious that she was suspicious that I was suspicious. Or something like that.

After a few weeks of dance classes, I was given permission to walk to ballet class after school, so I had to take my ballet slippers with me to school. Even at the age of six I knew not to let anyone see them. They would require an explanation and I didn't know how to fit them into a football regimen, so I hid them in my backpack. Being six years old means that you're not as sneaky and devoted to the task of covering yer tracks as say, a member of the Senate or the House of Representatives, so at the end of the day when I went to get my backpack, I could see the little black slippers spilling out onto the floor, but fortunately, no one said anything, so it seems I pulled it off. I spent the entire year of my first grade learning reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic, and hiding ballet slippers, and though I have forgotten the proper technique for a grand-plie, I can still hide stuff in a backpack.

I think the ballet and tap dance class ended after one year but not before I did a couple of dance recitals. I was the only boy in the class, and that was the best part and the worst part. Yes, it was great to be there, but why in hell am I the only guy? I remember a solo in a clown outfit. I bet I was awful.

Years later, in my senior year of high school, I was invited by a girl to take her to a dance contest. She said she wanted me to be her dance partner so we could possibly win the contest. This girl could get on a stage and have every eye on her the whole time, and she did it numerous times. She was a high voltage, eye candy cutie, and I replied, "Sure. Let's go win that contest." We did, and I remember when we were one of the last two couples, the other couple danced pretty well, so I started to dance around them and without hesitation, she started pouring on the charm and followed my lead. I think we won because we literally danced around our competition, but it sure didn't hurt having her as my partner.

So as you can see, deceitful mothers can pay off in the short run; I won a dance contest with a cute high school girl.

In the long run, though, conning someone doesn't pay off. I never became a dancer. I knew it wasn't for me, and I became less and less interested in dancing. I married a woman who is allergic to the metal in jewelry and doesn't like to shop. So far so good. She also was willing to go dancing with me once just to lure me into her feminine snare. She also danced with the future Best Man at our wedding, and she complained that he was all over her like a cheap suit. She told me she didn't like to dance. It wasn't her thing. No jewelry? No shopping? No dancing? She's the perfect wife!

How all this fits together into one blog is not something you should dwell on for very long, if at all.