The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

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Thursday, April 02, 2009


Dude, If You Want to Rock Go to a Cotillion

My middle child is all metal. He is a rock god. He’s twelve.

Last night was his second session at Cotillion and he learned the Fox Trot. He’s quick to point out that foxes don’t trot, in case you’re curious. Cotillion teaches formal dance steps and social etiquette that my kids can’t possibly learn at home.

I was a non-Cotillion kid when I was in middle school, mostly because my mother was in her rejection of the establishment phase circa 1976. Of course, it was ALL the other kids talked about at school the next day – the horror of dancing together in fancy clothes. But they were grinning like idiots and I knew I was missing out.

My guy, who lives in his black Slayer T-shirt and baggy jeans with ringlets down to his shoulders, cleans up good for Cotillion. He had been planning his Cotillion attire for two years, since his older brother was forced to attend.

His attitude was much more cooperative, provided that I allowed him to wear a camouflage tux with a top hat. Sadly, we never found one. In a navy blazer and khakis -- he’s still all metal. A rock god. Metallica's James Hetfield in a suit is still James Hetfield.

Last night they learned the art of proper introduction. When changing dance partners, one introduces himself with a first and last name.

The instructor gave an example: “Rather than ‘I’m Joe,’ say instead, ‘I’m Joe Clarke.’”

Each time he changed dance partners and was paired with a girl from his school, my son introduced himself, “I’m Joe Clark.”

 The girls laughed.

There’s more to Cotillion than the Fox Trot. 

Dude, Cotillion rocks!

By Mary Allison Tierney

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What a riot! Great writing!
Next week ... Fred Astaire dances to the tunes of Metallica!
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