Last ThursdayI musteredthe courage todo something Ihad never everin a million yearswanted to do.I went countrydancing.It probablytook more gutsfor me to performthis abhorred action thanit took for Romeo to deny hisfather and refuse his name.But Romeo and I live in thename of love. If sacrifice mustbe made, love is more than aworthy cause.I’ll admit. It was not easy. Visionsof yeehaw-ing hicks linedanced through my head duringthe hours leading up to theevent. I day-nightmared aboutan endless Texas plain of bootstompingcowpokes, theirheels in seesaw motion withtheir toes, their thumbs tuckedinto their frontpockets to callattention totheir oversizedbelt bucklesand undersizedgenitals.As I preparedto head overto the dance atTrolley Square,I wonderedwhat to wear. Itried on a coupleof cowboyhats, looked in the mirror andshuddered.I am not a cowboy, and Icould not pretend to be one.But for some odd reason, Icould pretend to be a gangster.I ditched the flannel and theboots for a bling-bling chainwith a dangling “#1” and a visorthat said “too sweet” acrossthe brim. I was ready to go.It cost me $5 and all my personalinformation save my socialsecurity number to jointhe club. I didn’t mind the expensethough, because a friendof mine got in for free.And though slightly embarrassedby my pimped-out urbanwear, she became my instruction’pardner.’Immediately I focused onthe instructor, a male probablyin his 30s andsingle. Coincidence?I don’tthink so.I struggled tolearn the pretzel,the butter-fly, the cha chaand the cuddle(my personalfavorite). Themoves aren’teasy. They must be performedwith precision. If there is atwist where there should be aduck, or a swing in place of abrace, somebody could end upwith a dislocated shoulder ora serious bump on the noggin.Lucky for me, my ‘pardner’was a good sport. After I nearlytore all of the ligaments inher arms and wrists during thelearning session, she still hadthe patience to tangle appendageswith me out on the dancefloor.Other gracious girls helpedme alongthroughout thenight. Friendly,familiar facespopped out inthe crowd. Itwas not longbefore I madea bittersweetrealization-Iwas having fun.In at least ourtown, countrydancing is agreat opportunityto interact with attractivemembers of the opposite sexin unique ways. It is good exercise,it is not mindless, andit is less raunchy than typicalclub dancing.However, there is no reasonto pull out the red-hot steeland brand me a country dancerjust yet.I have a sneaking suspicionthat once I learn the moves tothe point they become secondnature, I’ll have to start listeningto the music. Songs like”Save a horse, ride a cowboy”make me sick.Do me a favor Mr. Big & Mr.Rich, and while I’m at it, allyou other country musiciansout there: Save my ears, burnyour [email protected]