Out of the Closet

Tonight I have decided to confess to a secret I am ashamed of. Its something that I’ve been keeping to myself for many years, and it has grown and grown in me, until today, when I can’t bear it anymore.

The secret is that I’m a dancer. There, finally, it’s out. I dance.

So now you’re all thinking, he must be gay.

Yes, but there are other reasons as well. One is that Dancing is a form of artistic expression, Much like painting a picture. Its creative, and people like being creative. Another is that Dancing is addictive. The more you get, the more you want.

But unlike painting a picture, or snorting cocaine, dancing cannot be done alone. You need 3 other things. They are, in order of importance: Music. Alcohol. Woman.

The first two are easy to get. The last item is where the problem comes in.

In many cases you can substitute the women for a wooden life size doll and you won’t notice the difference, except you won’t get your shins kicked, your toes trod on or a break in the dance to be given a dancing lesson. But life size wooden dolls are expensive, so most people have to use the cheaper option.

And just like painting a picture, it’s very hard to do a good job without the right tool. But sometimes even a cheap tool comes to the party, and things do work out, maybe one time out of 20, Then the result is a masterpiece, and, for one such dance, all the pain and suffering you went through at the hands of the previous 19 women becomes worth it.

I’ll describe a typical situation for you. The other night I went dancing. The venue was fine, it had a big wooden dance floor. Drinks available. Tango music playing. And Women present.

In a perfect world, this would be a perfect situation to dance. Half the people are women.

Now everyone knows there are two types of women in the world. Type 1 are special and know it. Type 2 are the other type and are hard to find.

The music starts. We all leap up, looking for a woman to dance with. The bolder dancers get first choice, the less confident dancers are left with the type 1’s to choose from. But One needs a lot of confidence to ask a special type of woman to dance. So I sit this one out and order yet another beer.

As the evening and beer consumption progresses, a change comes over me. Bit by bit, my confidence builds. It’s almost as though I’m becoming a better and better dancer, just by sitting there.

Finally I realise I am really good, so, as the music starts, I approach a type 1 for a dance. Her first impulse is to reject me out of hand.

But intellectually, I’m ahead of her. It takes a lot of alcohol before you fall behind a women intellectually. So I say: “There is no none else to dance with. If you aren’t going to dance with me you’ll be sitting this one out.”

Unusually for a woman, she sees the logic. Reluctantly she joins me on the dance floor. I put my right arm around her in the classic tango embrace. I imagine she’s actually Dianne, the woman I really wanted to dance with. But that’s just not working, she doesn’t feel like Dianne. So I do the next best thing. I imagine she’s a wooden doll. And she does feel a bit like that, except it’s a wooden doll with stiff joints that need some oil to loosen up. Thus I launch into a music inspired series of steps dragging the stiff wooden doll after me.

Maybe 2 bars into the song, predictably, it’s lesson time. The wooden doll stops me. “You must listen to the music. And don’t just do anything, you need to stick to Tango steps.” For the rest of the dance I fantasize about my cold beer waiting for me.

I sit a few more dances out. Then, miraculously, a type 2 woman becomes available. I leap up and drunkenly stumble towards her, hoping to outpace the other guys who were fractionally slower in noticing. I succeed.

As I place my arm around her in the embrace, I feel soft womanly body. Body expecting movement. I step away, she follows. Soon we’re floating with the music just above the dance floor, two fairies.

Ok, in reality, things did get a bit out of hand. Yes, I stumbled a few times and managed to recover before falling. Yes, we did do a few things not seen before in Tango. Yes, a few times she exclaimed in consternation when it seemed injury was imminent. But it was a masterpiece.

I could tell because after that I was feeling alright. I didn’t need another beer.

I know addictions are bad for you. But I’ve decided that dying due to an overdose of dancing is one of the better ways. So despite the drawbacks, such as the loss of respect from all of you, I won’t be giving it up anytime soon.