As a typical bloke, I love rugby league. For those unfamiliar with the game, it’s one of the football codes played by men running and tackling each other – trying to get a ball across a line. It’s huge here in Australia, and the showcase event is called State of Origin. This is a 3 game series played once a year, quite strangely on Wednesday nights.
So it’s a Wednesday morning in 1993 and I’m a single/divorced bloke looking forward to the end of the work day so I can grab a few beers and kick back at home watching game one of State of Origin. All good, right? Then the office cleaning lady comes up to me with this curious look, eyeballs me, nodding to herself… “You know, Guy, you should try this dance group I know of. It’s on tonight. Why don’t you go along?”
And I’m like… “Dancing? Are you serious? Tonight!” …or words to that effect.
“Yes. Ballroom dancing. You might like it.”
Well, this elderly cleaning lady is wise. She’s also a wonderful caring type who knows me well. And her ridiculous suggestion is a seed that sprouts during the day and has me questioning the merits of sitting at home alone watching men thump each other on TV versus dancing with a woman. In real life. Like – in my arms, where no woman has been in a couple of years…