Phyllis and Sybil's Cruise

Note: The names have been changed to the one's we use when we are celebrating our innerchild!

Day 4: Phyllis lies snoring next to me, in her own bed, of course. Her hand is twitching just beneath her nose, obviously recalling today’s lessons about hand signaling to the dolphins. She’s sleeping hard after an eight hour excursion called “Assistant Dolphin Trainer for a Day”, and our evening aboard. I confess, I would have liked to be asleep too, but the snoring was way too loud to permit me to drift off. Well, I should be honest, I’m three vodkas and a glass of wine to the wind, it’s not really her snoring.

My good endorphins have kicked into the highest of gears from today’s excitement, so I really can’t sleep. I’m laying here wondering what the daily allowance of endorphins are? Anybody know? I sure don’t. Part of the sleeplessness problem for me is that the cruise line has chosen this night to “set your clocks forward an hour.” Ok, so now, instead of it being midnight, it’s one a.m. Mexico and California are not that far apart, and this is the second day out of four that we’ve had to lose an hour’s sleep! I guess the different ports are ahead of California, but it sure cuts down on the partying when you are beginning on your vacation. Don’t get me wrong, I am not some “kid” who boozes up on the cruise. Nope, I am a civilized adult. Normally I have one beer with dinner, but on a cruise with Phyllis (she always brings a bottle of vodka aboard), we make a drink while getting glammed up for the night. Once we’ve done the hair, make-up and dress, decided we look "cute", we head out of the cabin to one of the wood paneled bars and indulge in another drink or two with those fantastic hor’dourves they keep bringing over with a smile.

By our 8:30p.m. dinner, we find ourselves struggling to walk to the stairway and go down to the dining room, darn the high heels anyway! Actually, if Phyllis would let us take the elevator it would be much easier, but noooo, have to work off those calories somehow! Normally, the cocktails end our drinking and we are, of course, starving for the 5 course meal. Tonight however, we gave in to our tablemates and accepted a glass of wine with dinner. Big mistake. It felt good at the time. Now, laying here in my comfy bed, hearing the sloshing in my stomach from rolling s side to side with the boat movements, I’d give anything for a packet of crackers. Oh well, I will try to think about when we will get to gain that two hours back, because I'm going to need it!

Hey, it just occurs to me by that time I’ll be tired of cocktails and probably just end up going to bed early. I think that’s exactly what the cruise line had in mind after all. Ahhh, Phyllis rolled over, all is quiet in the cabin now. Goodnight Phyllis...

Part Two: Samba 101

Day 5: “OK, I’ll meet you for lunch at noon.” With that, Phyllis took off in a dead run, she was off to her next dance lesson. For those who have never had the fun of going on a cruise, every day at sea there are tons of scheduled events, ballroom dance lessons, lectures, and computer classes to Bingo. I’m usually not into doing any of them, except maybe a trivia challenge now and then, but this trip I decided to branch out, do some things besides just people watch. I’d signed up for a watercolor class, but it would not begin until two. What to do with that hour Phyllis was taking the lesson?? Well, maybe I’ll just go watch the dance lesson, so off I went to the one of the ballrooms to slip into a seat and observe. Once there, I saw quite a group of men and women, all juggling to find space. I made a quick decision. What the heck, I’ll just go up there with the group, nobody will take that much notice of me. This was going to be difficult for me, I dance only once a year when I cruise with my gal pal, and I was feeling very rusty.

One of the things which makes Phyllis and I such great friends and traveling partners was a deep understanding of each other’s circumstances. I’m married to a man with Muscular Dystrophy, and now pretty much dependent on a wheelchair. Phyllis’s husband lost a leg about 10 years ago, and he doesn’t want to travel after 38 years as an airline pilot. So, we go on a cruise once a year to recharge our caretaker batteries, and frankly, to unleash our inner child, both of whom have wicked senses of humor. On our last cruise one of the “dance hosts” we had nearly danced into retirement gave us this compliment, “You two could have fun in a broom closet”. He’s right!

“Hi Sybil!!” It was Phyllis, waving both arms and smiling widely. So much for slipping in unnoticed. I meekly waved back.

Suddenly the male half of the World Champion Ballroom dancers was speaking into a microphone, “Everybody grab their partner and give room for another couple on each side of you.”

Great, I see everyone had been paired up before I arrived, so there I am, standing alone, partner less and no men left without one. Oh well, I knew I would feel out of place here, so I turned to leave.

“Young lady.” The British voice pleaded. “You. Blondie.” said the voice over the microphone.

I turned, he was staring at me. Gulp. “Me?” I asked.

“Yes you,” he said in a sexy British accent.

Blushing, I said, “I’m sorry, I am in the wrong room.” Oh, now I’m lying, my face turned beet red.

“Oh, come on, join us. I’ll be your partner.” Mr. Ballroom Champ said.

“Yeah, come on Sybil.” Good old pal Phyllis, can always depend on her to back me up! She was paired up with Mr. Hasbeen, the comedy part of the entertainment hired to perform nights in the main showroom. (More about him in another installment.)

“Oh, ok, but I have flip flops on, not the greatest for dancing……”my voice trailed off into a whisper.

A great chorus started up, “Take them off, take them off.” How embarrassing. I took off my flip flops and now stood barefoot, singled out.

“Sybil is it?” The just two inch taller five foot four inch Englishman asked.

I smiled, “Yes.”

“Well, come here by me, we’re learning the Samba today. It will be just one fast hour." Just the way he said Samba made me want to dance, against my better judgment, and that bit about the class being just a fast hour had me doubting. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I headed up to the front of the class where he stood waiting for me to join him. Boy, sure glad I had worn more than a bikini today.

“Psssssssst.” I heard as I was walking by Mr. Hasbeen.

“What?” I asked.

He whispered in his Italian stage whisper, “Samba is the MOST difficult of all the dances, you know.” His great white smile was a billboard of his delight at imparting this knowledge to me.

“Yeah, I know.“ I glared at him as I passed him by. Mr. Ballroom Champ’s hand was outstretched to me, so I slid my hand into his, clamminess and all.
“Sorry.” I said, genuinely so.

“No problem.” Then he proceed to give instructions over the loudspeaker. “Ladies , you’ll learn first, it’s more difficult for you. Ok, arms at your side, feet together, just lift and bounce on your right foot, then take three steps forward, then three steps back, lightly bouncing. Ready, one, two, three…..”

The sound of 25 women, high heels, tennis shoes, dance shoes, socks and bare feet stepping and bouncing in unison made me laugh. I tried to be light of foot, after all, in my younger days I had taken ballet and tap dancing lessons, and even did some singing and dancing on stage during my acting years. Amazing how ungraceful I had become. Actually, what I felt was a pure lack of confidence. Usually dancing comes back to me after a few days, but this was a whole new arena, so I felt doubly insecure.

“Sybil, just relax, you’re doing fine. One, two and three, follow me.” He gripped my hand and practically forced me into submission, one-two-three….“Okay couples, try it together.” The canned music started .

Mr. World Champ and I had not missed a beat, so I looked around to find Phyllis, all the while bouncing and counting. I spotted her, conspicuous in her tennis clothing, but laughing and seemingly enjoying her one-two-three’s with Mr. Hasbeen. Good.

We had one-two-three’d our way forward, sideways and into open turns with our respective partners at the end of the hour, and I was positively sure I’d never remember any of it on a real dance floor in the evening.
Did I care? Not really, I had to admit it was great fun, though Mr. World Champ was probably happy I was just a wee little thing, 100 pounds and barefoot, if you get my gist. I thanked him for his patience and told him I would be back for more lessons. After all, I’d just passed Samba 101 and we both had survived. He smiled and thanked me, probably for not injuring his feet!