Lenten Penance

Isabel and I signed up for a dance class.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to issue some typical macho-type complaint about being dragged to the dance floor.
I actually don't mind dancing, and I certainly wouldn't mind looking less like a fool when I do it.
The problem with dance class lies elsewhere.

For instance, the yelling.
The dance instructor yells at us.
A lot.
Shame is her primary pedagogical tool.
It might have been better for me if I had taken this class while working on my dissertation, if only to make my director look like a lobotomized lamb on nyquil by comparison.

Next is the touching.
As many of you know, I am not known for my overwhelming embrace of public affection. I'd prefer giving the head nod of peace over pumping the flesh of various and sundry Mass-goers of questionable sanitation practices.
There is a lot of touching in this class...and not just with your partner. In fact, almost none of it is with your partner because the instructor sets up the men in rows and forces the women to descend a humiliating cattle chute of dance fever.

I touched more women last Tuesday than I think I've touched in my entire life. Women of all shapes, sizes, complexions, and ages. Despite the puerile, prep-school boy wish-fulfillment that such an endeavour would seem to embody, I derived no such pleasure from it in reality.

The really creepy thing is that you know there are men showing up for precisely the reason that young women are forced to touch them...you can tell which fellas they are by their beetly stance, vacant stare, and complete lack of reluctance to touch strange women.

And now a week has passed...and I have all day to contemplate the orthopedic nightmare to come this evening.

Hopefully, the ensuing mortification will burn off some of that ham sandwich that I was tricked into eating last Friday...

Comments

[PeterTerp]

UPDATE:
Dance class was canceled because of the nasty weather...so I spent the night building little plastic Transformers models that I bought on eBay instead!
Yay!

[Lindsay]

I took up the heroic minute for Lent, among other things. It is the truest kind of mortification I've experienced yet, because I die a little bit when I have to drag myself out of bed in the morning.

[Cornelius]

I have observed a number of students here chose growing their beards as a Lenten penance. I never heard Fr. B talk about anything like that, but it sounds like a good way to save some time and having an excuse for my slovenly appearance. Perhaps I'll remember to do it next year.

[PeterTerp]

Growing a beard for Lent sounds more like a penance for their girlfriends.