Dancing on the Ceiling
Nothing like realizing you have a milonga to get to, and no time to make it home, so you're in businesswear with one pair of shoes on you.
Naturally, like any tango-obsessed person with half an hour to hit all the necessary retail outlets, I fled. Managed to run into a store and grab a shirt without looking - just running my hand along the rack for fabric and drape (I used to sew; this molesty little method is foolproof for me, and my friends are consistently amazed). It's my favorite shirt now, by the way; classy, not revealing, and more comfortable than pajamas.
Stop 2 was the pharmacy, where I snagged thosee Dove wipes that make you smell like baby powder instead of Dirty, Sweaty Hippie. My partners were probably more excited about this than about my nice shirt.
I had a fantastic night. Every time a tanda came on that I like, one of my favorite leaders asked me to dance, so it constantly sounded like this:
Oooh, I LOVE this orches - "Oh, sure!"
It was totally the shirt. It wasn't even a skanky shirt, either! Double awesome! (What? It really wasn't! You could wear this shirt in front of your mom!)
I even enjoyed a tanda of alternative, mostly because it was danced in close embrace far, far away from the flailing nuevoistes. (Flee, milongueros; their colgadas will topple us all!)
This was all great - right up until the last tanda of the night, when a guy in my circle of friends asked me to dance and proceeded to stage-tango me all over the room. After two dances I cut it short, said I was too tired for his kind of tango, and went home.
He knows my tango preferences, and can dance in the simple way I prefer, I've seen him do it with other followers, but with me, for whatever reason, he chooses to try out all his stage moves. I'm tango-breaking-up with him.
Next to come: that weird period where he asks all our mutual friends what the matter is and leaves notes in my locker between classes and cuts in front of me in the lunch line.
(It was totally the shirt.)
Naturally, like any tango-obsessed person with half an hour to hit all the necessary retail outlets, I fled. Managed to run into a store and grab a shirt without looking - just running my hand along the rack for fabric and drape (I used to sew; this molesty little method is foolproof for me, and my friends are consistently amazed). It's my favorite shirt now, by the way; classy, not revealing, and more comfortable than pajamas.
Stop 2 was the pharmacy, where I snagged thosee Dove wipes that make you smell like baby powder instead of Dirty, Sweaty Hippie. My partners were probably more excited about this than about my nice shirt.
I had a fantastic night. Every time a tanda came on that I like, one of my favorite leaders asked me to dance, so it constantly sounded like this:
Oooh, I LOVE this orches - "Oh, sure!"
It was totally the shirt. It wasn't even a skanky shirt, either! Double awesome! (What? It really wasn't! You could wear this shirt in front of your mom!)
I even enjoyed a tanda of alternative, mostly because it was danced in close embrace far, far away from the flailing nuevoistes. (Flee, milongueros; their colgadas will topple us all!)
This was all great - right up until the last tanda of the night, when a guy in my circle of friends asked me to dance and proceeded to stage-tango me all over the room. After two dances I cut it short, said I was too tired for his kind of tango, and went home.
He knows my tango preferences, and can dance in the simple way I prefer, I've seen him do it with other followers, but with me, for whatever reason, he chooses to try out all his stage moves. I'm tango-breaking-up with him.
Next to come: that weird period where he asks all our mutual friends what the matter is and leaves notes in my locker between classes and cuts in front of me in the lunch line.
(It was totally the shirt.)
3 comments:
Planch, IMHO: He just likes you very much and is trying to push your bottoms because you are probably not paying attention to him... (Yes, it may be the blouse).
Dear Planch... ugh!!! I meant "buttons", of course!!! :)
Sorry about that (the problem of not being a native english speaker and typing too fast!)
Tanguera
hahahahahah, tanguera and planch, you both crack me up:) Thanks for making me laugh outloud in a coffee shop. :)
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