All Dressed Up and No Place to Dance

Many girls dream of going to a ball - I know I used to daydream about the dress, the music and the dancing.

Unfortunately, most girls never have the opportunity to attend a real ball. Apparently they aren't very common - unless you're a military wife or one of the Bennett daughters.

I have now been to three military balls, and sadly, the shine has really come off of the events for me. Before my first one, I had a lot of romantic notions about balls - mainly derived from reading Jane Austen novels, I'm sure.

It turns out that they're really about listening to speeches, handing out awards and drinking. That's fine, but it clashes with my Pride and Prejudice-esque fantasies.

At a military ball, there's always a line at the bar. At our last event, the first hour was open bar, and the line was so long that people were having trouble getting through the front doors because the queue was blocking the entrance.

One of the highlights of the night is the mixing of the grog. Several different beverages are poured into a huge bowl - usually different kinds of liquor and wine, each signifying a different battle or event in the unit's history. For example, if the unit invaded France on D-Day, they might add a French wine to the mixture. Coffee, juice, Kahlua...it's all fair game. Spouses aren't required to drink, and I'll admit that I've never tried it. It's fun watching everything go in the bowl though, and then watching everyone's reactions after they've tasted it.

At my first ball I sat dutifully through the grog-making, dinner, awards and speeches, and was excited for what I expected to be the climax of the night - dancing. I was mistaken. When the formal portion of the night was over and a tiny dance floor opened up, most of the guests left immediately. There was a major snowstorm going on outside, however, and we rushed for the door like everyone else, wanting to get across town and inside before it was too dangerous to drive. I was a little disappointed, but blamed the lack of dancing on inclement weather.

At the second ball I attended, the weather was even worse - a tornado warning was announced just as the last speaker wrapped up. We headed home to the sound of screaming tornado sirens. We didn't know it then, but the tornado actually followed us home along the same route we took, just a few minutes behind us. It ended up doing millions of dollars of damage to Kansas State University just four blocks from our apartment. Again, the weather had interfered with the dancing.

However, just a few weeks ago Steve and I attended our first ball here in Florida, and the weather was gorgeous. Considering our track record, I was expecting a freak hurricane to blow through, but it remained clear and beautiful the whole evening. And at the end of the event, the music came on and a table was pushed aside to reveal a dance floor large enough for two or even three couples.

We stuck around for another 45 minutes or so, discussing where to go for more drinks with friends, and I watched the dance floor. A few people crossed it to get to the bathroom on the other side, and one girl twirled around by herself while her date laughed. Everyone else pretended it didn't exist.

Despite the presence of officers in uniform, the days of the Netherfield ball are gone. The upside: I'd choose Steve over Colin Firth any day.