I had a chance to test my line dancing skills Saturday night. Some friends invited me to a St. Valentine’s dance in Chinatown at Le Cristal Chinois restaurant which included a ten course meal. It’s a toss-up as to which appealed to me the most, the supper or the dance, so I brought both my dancing shoes and my appetite. The only requirement was everyone had to wear something red or pink.

The dance floor was already full when I arrived at 5:30. At the front of the sea of red was the instructor dressed in an outfit of black sequins and gold heels. With a microphone in one hand, she called out the steps over the beat of the golden oldies. It was obvious that most of the people were seasoned line dancers and most likely, students in her class. There were only a handful of men present. A few of them assumed the job of guarding the belongings at the table while the women tore up the dance floor. The evening was a family affair with ages ranging from teenagers to retirees in their eighties, but I discovered it was mainly a girls’ night out as most of the women had left their husbands at home so they could dance the night away. 

I thought I would be inconspicuous in the back row as I tried to follow the steps, which worked until suddenly everyone turned around and started to dance towards me. It was horrifying, like accidentally driving up a down ramp. An older man, who I assumed to be a retiree, said something to me in Chinese. “He wants you to follow him,” my friend translated. “He wants to teach you.” It was like following Fred Astaire. He moved easily, gracefully, every step-touch and glide was burned in his memory. I followed, sometimes by his side, sometimes backwards, but not as graceful as Ginger Rogers. I managed to master a couple of dances for beginners, but stumbled along to anything slightly more difficult. The line dances to Chinese music were especially difficult because I couldn’t figure out the beat.

Supper was served at 7pm. I’ll just include a few photos of the delicious ten course meal. Place the cursor over the photo for the name of the dish.

The dancing continued after supper. It was a good way to work off the huge meal. My weary feet finally demanded that I pack it up well before midnight, but my spirit was still doing the electric slide as I pushed the elevator button.

How good are you at line dancing?