Steve and I have been married 27 years and I think we have danced together precisely twice in the entire time we’ve been married. Once was at our wedding in 1984 and the second time was last Friday night at a party hosted by a client of ours.

I guess dancing together once every millennium tells you that we’re not huge partiers. My idea of a strong drink is adding a second thimble of French Vanilla Coffee-Mate to my coffee after church.

So what prompted this night of wild abandon on the dance floor? In reality, I did a lot more shuffle-step-shuffle-step than booty shaking and we probably only danced for 20 minutes. But still for me, being out there at all was a huge leap.

The biggest reason that I grabbed Steve’s hand and asked him if he wanted to dance was because I knew I didn’t need to worry about embarrassing myself on the floor. You see, the party was a mix of scientists, marketing people, and administrative folks – all of whom I was quite sure hadn’t just come from a gig as back-up dancers for Lady Gaga. They were all middle-aged like us and it was held at a yacht club, for goodness sake. Does it get anymore white than that? I was quite sure I could bust-a-move as well as the really nice but rather rotund researcher we met who spends 10 hours a day in a lab.

It was also a good chance to put into practice advice that I frequently give our teenage daughter: don’t worry so much about judgments that you think people are making about you.

I am always telling her that the truth is that people really pay very little attention to what is going on around them because we are all so consumed with our own lives at any given moment. So just relax and have fun. Forget being self-conscious and don’t miss out on an opportunity that might not come around again for a while.

 I’m thinking Steve and I probably shouldn’t wait until the 22nd century for our next pas de deux.