No one puts Baby, or Sineadie, in a corner.
As my partner and I got together on the brink of a pandemic, we spent basically the entire first year of our relationship in overly-familiar lockdown.
To make up for this lost honeymoon period, we are often trying to find ways to spice up our lives and reinstate some forgone romance.
Last month during a drunk google brainstorm, we decided to sign up for an entire semester of salsa dancing.
Obviously had we been sober, we would have realised we should probably take advantage of the “first class free” trial, and just dip our toes into the salsa jar if you will – before committing to an entire three months.
* Learning to salsa with Dancing with the Stars judge most awkward thing I’ve ever done
* Channing Tatum splits with wife of nine years, Jenna Dewan
* We try salsa – the spiciest of partner dances
* Channing Tatum and wife celebrate Step Up’s 10th Anniversary with epic throwback
But we were two bottles of wine deep. Despacito was screaming out of the UE Boom. I was screaming at my partner to catch me as I leapt off the coffee table. I was having the Time Of My Life. Nobody puts Sineadie in a corner.
Fast-forward to the following Thursday evening and we remembered in a blood-chilling panic that tonight was Salsa Night.
I sculled a mug of wine en route and assured myself it was fine to arrive a bit drunk, when in Spain etc. My partner drove us, shaking with fear. Palms sweaty, knees weak, Mom’s Spaghetti, the lot.
On arriving to the class, we quickly established our grave mistake. We had not signed up to a couples class. We were the only couple. Everyone else was single and ready to mingle.
And look, in my hey-dey there was nothing I loved more than to mingle with strangers. I’d mingle all the way.
And what an exciting way to spend an evening, salsa-ing around with random men while my partner sulked in a corner, like a very low risk, G-rated swingers party.
But remember, I’d spent the first year of my relationship in lockdown – washing my hair approximately thrice and in a permanent uniform of elasticated pants. So I wasn’t even at the ‘bored of you now, swinger party stage,’ I just wanted to dance with my own lovely boyfriend while obviously secretly pretending he was Channing Tatum and I was Jenna Dewan, pre divorce.
Devastatingly, our instructor had not received my telepathic, very niche movie reference memo.
Our fate for the next 90 minutes was indeed the G-rated partner swapping.
I spent the entire evening being whirled around the room by stranger men in Cuban heels. My partner was feverishly cha-cha-cha’d into dark corners by enthusiastic women in their Autumn years.
We left understandably shaken.
On arriving home, we emailed the instructor to explain our mistake, that we had meant to sign up for a couples class because we only wanted to dance with each other, like clingy losers.
Over six paragraphs we expressed in detail how our intention for doing a salsa class was to relight our romantic fires, information the instructor had certainly not asked for or needed.
Thankfully, the very kind instructor said that he COMPLETELY UNDERSTOOD, and encouraged us to come back to the class next week.
He said he’d explain to the class that while they continued to partner swap as normal, they were no longer allowed to ask us to dance as we only had eyes, arms and salsa for each other.
Clearly we couldn’t live with that Scarlet salsa letter shame, so we had no choice but to ghost.
We’re now $500 out of pocket, and the only move we learned was how to sprint through a dance studio carpark in Cuban heels, and not look back.
By no means do I want this cautionary tale to deter you from finding your own spicy couple hobby, I’m still on the hunt for one myself.
But please do at least attempt to read the fine print while you’re drunk booking – otherwise you’ll probably end up at a speed dating event when you really only wanted to do the normal pottery class.
Don’t worry though, even if you do book the wrong one – at least me and my boyfriend will probably be there, so you’ll have some mates.