Jack is installing flooring in our office today. He tells me it has slowly migrated to one side as he works his way across the room. His plan? Cut little pieces to fill the holes at the wall and then hopefully cover it up with baseboards.
Believe it or not, I call this a win. He’s still Jack of Most Trades to me.
Something I will admit Jack hasn’t mastered: the art of dance. He is learning to partner dance quite successfully; he spins and lifts me like a pro (look out wedding dance), but when it comes to the solo it’s sort of awkward watching him.
Just so I don’t get in trouble here, I should also state I had the idea for this post a few weeks back and Jack’s dancing skills have improved immensely.
Let’s take a trip back to January, shall we?
As some of you may know, I lived and breathed dance from the time I was 4 years old until I graduated high school, and have regained an obsession of dance through weekly Zumba classes over the past year. I know a little bit about dance steps and would say I would be able to teach them to ALMOST anyone. I also believe my dance skill evaluation abilities to be true and accurate.
The description that best fits Jack’s “moves” would boil down to: “Prehistoric Bird in Flight”.
One evening I was pleasantly surprised to hear of Jack’s openness to trying a few dance moves, so I seized the opportunity. My mistake.
We began with a basic 3-step move named the “chasse”, literally meaning “to chase”. When it was finally clear to me Jack was not a natural born dancer, I decided to mess with him a little. We followed the chasse with the pique and the jete, two steps that if attempted by an uncoordinated man, could appear bird-like.
Remember: a good wife always sets her husband up to entertain herself. If I truly respected him, I would have taken a video and uploaded it to YouTube so all my Laughers could bask in the glory. I did not do this. But if you’re curious about the dance steps, look up the words in the French-English Dictionary or the Ballet Glossary to aid in your imaginative journey.
Oddly enough, Jack had already perfected the plié by the time we reached that part of our lesson. I chalked it up to beginners luck and moved on (even though I was tempted to teach him the grande plié, for the mere fact that I haven’t seen him rip the crotch out of his wranglers in a few weeks). By this time the pain in my core was agonizing from laughing uncontrollably, and we ended the lesson on a positive note.
Jack undergoes a certain amount of harassment from me (clearly), but one of the things I love about him is he never gives up. He understands dancing at our wedding is important to me, and he would do anything to make me smile. Even if this means his tough guy reputation is shattered.
Jack may be a pterodactyl, but he’s mine, and in one month I’ll rightly be referred to as Mrs. Pterodactyl.