“Opportunity dances with those already on the dance floor.”

- H. Jackson Brown Jr.

One, two, cha-cha-cha, three, four, cha-cha-cha.

This is my tempo, my motto for the next four weeks. These words resound in my head, and in turn, I feel compelled to place my feet forward and backward in cadence.

Let me bring you into the fold here. The back story goes like this; Honey has a lovely sister who is getting married next month. So, to prove that I am more whipped than a bowl of mashed potatoes, I am now finding myself enrolled in the ultimate of male sacrifices: couples dance classes.

I believe I pretty much discussed before that my dancing chops are not all too sharp. You'd have a better time trying to keep pace with a spastic squirrel on crack than trying to figure what move I'm about to do next.

I can't say that I have a particular style of dance, perhaps you could call it “fusion,” because I fuse everything I have ever seen on “Soul Train,” “Fame,” or just about any episode of “The A-Team” (I never really got to watch much television as a kid.) It boils down to that when I hit the dance floor, all eyes are on me - sort of like passing motorists driving by a car crash. Spectators just want to witness the carnage. From the worm, to a tango - sort of salsa and a head spin; I put all these move into one song, even if it's a country ballad.

Starting to get the picture now?

But, you know, I try to be an open-minded type of person, so after Honey gives me a sad-eyed look, I gladly accept the chance to finally learn what it means to cha-cha. (told you I was whipped!)

So, for the next month I will find myself in a room, at the community college, waiting to have some stranger tell me what I'm doing wrong. I always thought that was why I was in therapy.

There are about 10 couples that have signed up for the class, and we spent the first few minutes getting acquainted, when the teacher brings us to attention. The lesson gets broken down like this; the men will be the lead and the women will follow. Now, here is where I really begin to worry, because if I don't know what I'm doing, how can I lead someone to where I don't know where I'm going?

The instructor tells us to make our first step. My ego wondering if the best step would possibly be toward the door. I put my arms around Honey as the teacher reminds us to remember to have “fun.” I ask you - when was the last time someone stepped on your toes repeatedly and you called it fun?

Perhaps the main reason they say cha-cha is a dance for lovers is because of all the making up you have to do when the music stops. If I have learned anything so far, it is that men might lead; but women still navigate.

Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here, each Sunday, in The Citizen. He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com