Well Sparkling Eyes is still giving me jip over taking up Salsa, telling me it will "end in tears" no matter what I say at this point she and everyone else she knows seems to think anyone who goes to Salsa is a gigolo just waiting to put it about. Truth be said this is far from it. And as always so disappointing those she knows have this view point and haven't actually tried it. I was even dismayed when I heard Rock Chick had put tuppence worth of opinion in as well. One guy on youtube dances all the time. He says it's good for your health. Though I don't think I'll be as fanatical as he is, going to the gym is tough enough. Doing the little fat man on running machine is the extent of any strenuous exercise I can maintain.
So it happens this week I hit my third Salsa lesson. I did have some doubts about going, but because of all the external pressure I purposely made sure I went. Not to mention the laughter my Fish Factory colleagues were gaining from my tails and demonstrations of nifty foot work. Yes, they laughed but were encouraging as they laughed. More than some I know. The real problem though is I am a slow learner. It's very difficult for me learning how to co-ordinate in a dance pattern. This foot work is hard work and others just don't appreciate how much effort it takes to learn.
Unfortunately this time I have to say the lesson was not up to standard. The class had increased from just me to seven people, another man and four ladies. They had all been auditioning for the Munsters earlier in the morning so having some spare time this lunch period they decided to drop in and try their footsies at a bit of Salsa. I wish they had continued down the road and taken the bus, even better the train, better still a plane, to anywhere.
There was tall Munster lady maybe a foot taller than myself who seemed to dance as though she was on a pogo stick. Just jumping up and down. I needed two dozen spare yellow pages to stand on and they still didn't help. Not to mention the toff accent she had acquired from somewhere. If there is something so grating, it's the pretentiousness of a toff accent. Then there was short wide Munster lady who had the girth of a hundred year old Oak tree. Though surprisingly nimble on her feet I had some trepidation about squashed toes and she wasn't too keen on bothering with the subtle hand movements which signal the next set of steps. Those by the way are things the male instigates such as lifting the left hand to signal time for a twirl, or moving to the left or right to signal a side step, Cha Cha Cha I think. Then there was the little 100 year old Indian Munster lady who was scared to have her hands held and it was impossible to dance with, like she was afraid I had some kind of disease. I checked and the leprosy has definitely cleared up. Lastly there was Munster Leading lady who did her own thing, I was a mere accessory. Again another woman who believes she should take and dictate the steps. In fact it didn't matter whether I was there or not. It nearly led to an all out battle. I threatened her with my crossbow and shield but she didn't take the hint, pulling the little fat man around like he was a rag doll. So all in all, I learnt little from this dance lesson. A note to all those ladies THE MAN IS SUPPOSED TO LEAD. It's not a matter of women's lib, it's a matter of how the Salsa is supposed to be done.
My dreams of dancing with Sparkling Eyes are beginning to disintegrate like the making of a rhubarb crumble, when you rub the topping through your fingers and it's particles drop into the bowl. I really, really want to dance with Sparkling. To show we can do something together in unison and have fun. But knowing my luck she will bloody WANT To LEAD as well. It is with this I realise the Salsa is about Men's lib. We males actually get to dictate the dance when it's done properly. I want to learn the dance properly, but with the Munsters there will be very little progress. Unless of course I catch leprosy, like flattened feet and being led by a WOMAN. This is a disaster. The whole thing is a disaster.
So I am now close to giving up. A stigma seems to be attached to the Salsa and because of this and other's notions I'm despondent and sad.
Next week I'll take along, a chain saw to cut the bounding Tall Munster lady down to size, a book tittled "I'm cured of leprosy" and another book on crash dieting for the wider Salsa learner. As for the the one who wants to lead I'll just attach cactus spikes to my hands. See who wants to lead then!!
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