There comes a time in every relationship when the romance really does leave the building.  It takes work to keep the fires going at home.

At first, everything is all wine and roses. Boy cannot get enough of girl. Boy is insatiable. Girl is flattered. Boy and girl promise each other it will never change. But, then, boy has to leave the house one day and go to work. And, then Girl decides to go to bed early one night. Boy decides to stay up late. It all starts to unravel slowly as real life, and its demands, begin to take precedence over mooning over each other.

Bummer.

Psychologists have a word for getting used to something to the point that it doesn’t impact you in the same way. It’s called Hedonic Adaptation. Apparently, we humans are brilliant at this.

In the PBS special, This Emotional Life: Rethinking Happiness, the final part in a three-part series, scientists talk about this. They have discovered the things that make us happy one day, won’t necessarily make us happy the next. We grow used to things. Easily.  So, we are, as human beings, always seeking new sources of joy and fulfillment. (Apparently, one way to combat this hedonic adaptation is to cut back on luxurious enjoyment – to make things “treats” versus every day occurances.)

Strike one against craving the same person every day, at the same level.

Strike two on keeping romance alive at home is how society isn’t always that kind to women after a certain age, which dings her confidence tremendously. 

When a woman turns 40 she is expected to act like a “mature adult” – whatever that means. Mini-skirts, giggling in public, and any reference at all to a sexual life are meant to be closeted away, never to be seen or heard from again.  All this “act your age” talk is really saying “put it away. No one wants to see that.” It’s our society’s little dirty secret. We want to asexualize our older women.

(The “older part” also cracks me up. Because really, if you are going to live to be 90 – which many, many people alive today are going to do – 40 isn’t even half way. How is that old? Shouldn’t 70 – 80 be considered old? And, 40 still be considered adolescence?)

Ah, we are a fickle species.

For Husband and me, we try to buck the trends. While I don’t bother with mini-skirts anymore, I did kind of believe I wouldn’t fall into the trap of feeling like I had to “behave” so much once I turned 40. Ha.

The realization hit after being married for just one year that we were just like every other couple out there. The dreaded cliché of “marriage kills mystery and sexual intrigue” really was a fact. 

Fortunately, late bloomer brides bring a number of skills to the marital table – and an independent, can-do attitude is usually one of them. We are do-ers. We’ve had to be.

So, I immediately had the thought that any mature woman of the 21^st century might have:  I can change this.

I headed out to bring romance behind closed doors. The usuals – more lingerie, more playtime, more whatever.

Then, Oprah intervened. (She’s such a troublemaker, that one.)  She had a show in which everyday women were taking exotic dance lessons to lend a little spice to their life.

So, I did the 21^st century thing. I googled it. Guess what?  Right here, in my own little town, there was a professional dance studio that offered it. All of it – burlesque, striptease, bellydancing, pole dancing, chair dancing, as well as traditional, ballroom dancing.

I registered immediately. It’s been three years now. I am not the same woman.

Recently, someone in my social sphere who discovered my dancing, asked me (and with a serious amount of judgment in her tone, I might add), why would you do that? I readied a speech about empowerment, fitness, increasing body confidence, adding romantic spice to my relationship, developing grace and poise – all the things the dance students truthfully will tell you they have received from learning how to spin, pose, undulate and shimmy.

But, then I decided to tell her the real, real truth. It’s fun.

I started with pole dancing.  It seemed the most taboo at the time, and I wanted something drastic. No dilly-dallying around here.

Besides, who would know? All the dance classes are locked down pretty tightly – curtains drawn, doors locked, no men or observers allowed. (Even the male co-owner of the studio isn’t allowed in.) And, if you run into any of your fellow dancers in public, they never, ever let on how you know each other. There is an unspoken oath amongst us.

The women’s ages range from 18 to 76 (no kidding). They come from every background you can imagine. In fact, one of the instructors has a Ph.D. in neuroscience (no kidding). And, their reasons vary from wanting to add a little spice to their life to fitness. One woman lost 20 pounds (no kidding). And, there was no more skin showing than what you’d see around a public American family swimming pool – in fact you’d see more there.

One of my favorite fellow students is in her 70s. “R” has been pole dancing for several years now. She can do a “pull up” on the pole – meaning pull her entire body weight up off the floor with the mere strength of her arms. She’ll tell you that she’s much stronger now than she was when she was in her 60s. Her husband agrees. She is my idol.

When I first started taking these dance classes, I told no one. Husband didn’t even know. I liked having a secret – and thought somehow through osmosis this secret would leak itself into our romantic life. He knew I was taking a class, but didn’t know which kind. I would come home and rub arnica oil onto bruised legs from attempting to spin around this one-inch-in-diameter steel pole and crawl around the floor in an attempt to look, well, graceful.

Side note: Anyone who thinks pole dancing is for women who don’t have any other skills has never tried to fling their body around said steel dowel and tried to make it look good. The women who are really into this – for sport and dance, not men’s entertainment – are serious athletes. Take a look.

Husband would watch my arnica-oil ritual and ask, What kind of class are you taking?

Oh, just a dance class.

Well, be careful.

Then I took a striptease exotic class. Wow. I learned a routine.  I decided to “out” myself with Husband. Forget the secret osmosis. I showed him what I learned.

[[The next section has been deleted for your protection. It might melt your computer screen.]]

Introduce more romantic fire into our life? Check.

Then, I started exploring more. Enter burlesque.

Burlesque is flirty, prance-y and a not-at-all serious form of striptease dancing. It’s almost little girl like, twirling and all. The idea is to tease and show off, but never, ever show too much. You won’t see any naked burlesque dancers – just shiny, glittery, feathery costumes. That’s half the fun.

In class each week we would shimmy, shake, and fling boas around until the floor was so littered with feathers it looked like a chicken had exploded – albeit a multicolored, punk rock chicken.

At some point, our instructor introduced Fan work. I am now a fan addict.

Today, I am the proud owner of my very own 50 inch, regulation Sally Rand, black and hot pink, ostrich feather fan. I love this thing.

If our townhouse were to burn down, I would be sure to grab three things besides Husband: my laptop, my Ipod and the fan. Husband has strict instructions to do the same, if I’m not at home when the flames start.

I now have tried just about everything they offer at the dance  studio. The interesting thing is –  while the romantic benefits of being able to dance for – or let’s say, entertain — Husband turned out as you can imagine –  something else happened.

For one, I have made some really great friends. The women I’ve met at the studio are the most inspiring, generous, compassionate people I’ve ever met. They want nothing more than for you – and everyone around them – to feel good about themselves, to feel graceful and beautiful, to feel ageless. It is the least judgmental space I have ever encountered, hands down.

But, something else big happened.

Being a late bloomer has terrific benefits – if you are paying attention. You can avoid other’s mistakes, for one. But, it also can come with doubts, a sense of feeling behind, and – since society says there are certain age for certain things – sometimes make you feel you’ve completely missed out on your time.

For me, these classes gave me something much more than a boost in the bedroom. It really turned out to be about the complete and utter annihilation of the thought that I am too old for, well, anything.  And, there aren’t many places in the world that foster that.

It’s ironic really. There you are doing something with your body (and I can’t do half the things that some of the younger women can do), which is usually the first thing that signals your age. Yet, when dancing, age disappears.

I am sure there are people out there reading this thinking, come on, aren’t you proliferating the objectification of women? Isn’t there something else you could do, like read a book, go into therapy, take more ballroom dancing, or continue to watch Oprah’s shows on how age doesn’t really matter, to deal with these issues?

I tried all those. They weren’t nearly as much fun. (Plus, I don’t think a therapist would appreciate me sitting on his or her couch waving a 50 inch ostrich feather fan.)

During an extraordinarily busy time, I once threatened to reduce the amount of time I spent dancing. Husband was honestly concerned. Husband likes to see my routines. But, he will regularly say, to those friends who know of this extracurricular activity, that it really isn’t about him. It’s about me and the other women. He just gets a little side benefit action from time to time. He sees how it makes me happy.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Husband from asking, learn any new dance moves?

Why, yes, I have. Wanna see? Let me go get my fan…

P.S. Husband is a very private and conservative guy. He has nixed a few LBB blog posts in the past. This post, however, was suggested by Husband. He thought my readers should know about the power of this dance program and the contributions it has made to our life and countless of other women’s lives.

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