My husband and I were standing on the edge of a bamboo dance floor watching our ballroom dancing instructors dip and dive in perfect unison. Vito gazed into Carmen's eyes as if enraptured. Soon that would be us!

My definition of romance was formed the moment I saw Prince Charming sweep Cinderella into his arms and whirl her around the dance floor, her powder-blue gown aswirl. Then I grew up. Met a great guy.

We enjoyed a solid marriage. It was all good.

Except, as years passed, I craved more romance. And now my husband had finally agreed to take ballroom dancing lessons with me. My romantic dream was coming true! I could already picture the gown I meant to buy - and dazzle in - once we had our moves mastered.

Our instructors wowed us with a sensual Rumba, then set to work trying to make ballroom dancers out of us wannabes.They started us off with a basic Foxtrot. Vito offered his hand to Carmen and they slipped effortlessly into a flawless demo.

We applauded.

"It's seemple steps!" said Carmen with a charming Spanish accent and a flash of perfect teeth. "The gentleman walks forward on his left foot, then his right, then steps left to the side, and closes with his right." Vito demonstrated. It looked easy.

"The lady does the opposite," Carmen continued, stepping backward with her right foot and completing the pattern.

"The timing is simple too," enthused Vito. "It's: Slow, Slow; Quick-Quick . . . Slow, Slow; Quick-Quick. They demonstrated the footwork with flair.

"Now, who wants to be first to try?" asked Carmen.

An elderly couple immediately stepped forward. Ted was a half-foot shorter than his stocky wife, Audrey. As they got underway, I had to fight the urge to giggle. Ted was resting his head on Audrey's ample bosom.

It was clearly his happy place.

But credit where credit is due: What Ted lacked in stature he made up in determination. He drove Audrey backward - Slow, Slow; Quick-Quick; Slow, Slow;Quick-Quick - and the two of them were soon zig-zagging around the room, glowing with satisfaction. Carmen and Vito applauded, only suggesting that Ted stand up a little straighter.

Couple Number Two, Ken and Barbie-lookalikes, struggled initially when Barbie's shoe strap came undone. She giggled as Bill bent gallantly to fasten it. Soon the two of them were trotting around like troupers. Carmen and Vito beamed.

"Last but not least, Couple Number Three," called Vito. Our big moment!

Come fly with me

Frank Sinatra crooned Come fly with me, come fly, come fly away as we stepped forward to take our turn. "Slow, Slow; Quick-Quick," I whispered in my husband's ear. He frowned in quite an unromantic fashion. I stepped my right foot backward just as he moved his right foot forward.

Onto my left.Ouch.

"The man walks forward on his LEFT," I hissed, using my own left foot to try to push his right one back into place.

"The man LEADS," he hissed back. "Don't push me!"

"No es problema," said Carmen. "Start again. Just remember, the gentleman walks forward with his left."

Once again my "gentleman" stepped forward. With his RIGHT. Which is when it hit me. My guy is dyslexic. I have known that forever. In all of my fantasies of us flitting across the dance floor, how had I not remembered that this issue might mess up our footwork?

Still, I wasn't giving up on my dream. Again I shoved my foot against his foot to push it back into place.

He scowled and counter-pressed to put me in my place. In all my daydreams, how had I not considered that my own pushy nature might not exactly kindle a ballroom romance!

Barbie was tittering in the background. Sinatra was singing something about gliding, starry-eyed, and holding you near as angels cheer. We stumbled stubbornly on, lurching backwards and sideways, one zigging while the other zagged. We knocked knees.

Trod on toes. Glared into each other's eyes. Barbie's titters turned to snorts. Somewhere angels groaned. Or maybe that was Vito and Carmen.

Facing the music

The car ride home was a frosty one. We nursed our sore toes and sorer feelings. We didn't discuss Vito's offer of private lessons. We didn't say a word until we pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Then we turned to face each other - and the music.

We both knew that, for us, the Foxtrot was not Slow, Slow; Quick, Quick. For us, it was Slow,Slow; Quick-SAND.

If we kept on trotting, we weren't going to get out alive. Much less still married. "We're quitting," we said. Simultaneously. Then burst out laughing. Somewhere angels cheered.

It was the right decision and I accepted it. As a couple we were never going to be Carmen and Vito. Heck, we couldn't even compete with Ted and Audrey. And yet . .

. my feet still wanted to dance.

Plan B: Look at me!

Then a friend suggested I try line dancing. "OMG, no!" I said. I had visions of The Four Tops doing their elaborately synchronized solo moves back in the sixties. "That's not my kind of thing at all."

But she persisted. So one day I stepped back onto a dance floor. And to my amazement, it turned out there was such a thing as ballroom line dancing. Before I knew it, I was doing the dances of my dreams: the Tango, the Rumba, the Samba - yes, even the Foxtrot - doing them solo! With no one but my bossy self to blame when I botched a step.

How had I not grasped this earlier? Learning to dance was my dream, not my husband's. He couldn't be happier that I'm getting so much joy from finally pursuing my passion - and doing it alongside others who also love moving to music.

Now when Sinatra croons Come fly with me,my fellow line dancers and I soar across the floor with Ol' Blue Eyes. We move like a murmuration of starlings - each of us flying solo, yet whirling together in total sync.

What can I say? It makes me happy.

But best of all, I found out my man likes to watch me dance. And when he watches me, his eyes light up. Like Vito's did when he danced with Carmen. And Prince Charming's, when he gazed at Cinderella. Turns out that's what I was missing all along: that smitten look on my lover's face.

I only got it when I stopped expecting him to deliver my dream, and danced it to life on my own.

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