Step Lightly

An invitation arrived in the mail the other day, telling us that some friends are about to take the momentous step of matrimony. “I do so love weddings,” sighed our Formidable Companion. “The flowers, the music and dancing, the romance. “ Dewy-eyed, she lobbed a handful of rice onto the kitchen floor for practice, even though the event was still six months away. We told her that weddings used to nearly destroy our family when we were growing up, for they meant only one thing: Cousin Louie would be invited, and Cousin Louie could dance. Balding and not quite 5-5 in his Florsheims, he would rumba with my mother, cha-cha with my aunts, waltz with my grandmother and fox-trot with assorted nieces and cousins. He tangoed and one-stepped, and did the shimmy too. “The man’s a nonstop jitterbugging fool,” my father would grumble from the sidelines, where he stood with the other jealous husbands, fiances, boyfriends and even the groom. “What squares,” said the Formidable Companion. Too bad they couldn’t take the YWCA’s ballroom dancing classes for beginning and intermediate students being held at the West Los Angeles-Beverly Hills branch, 10936 Santa Monica Blvd. It’s only $35 for six weeks, and class times are available by calling (213) 475-1228. She looked down at our two left feet. “What’s Sweet Lou’s phone number, by the way?”