Other times, it's ... still the little things.

I need to stop being so susceptible to the charms of handsome young men who dance well. My tango-crushes lead to nothing but heartache. Granted, the disappointment is usually very minor--I might be unhappy for a day or so at most, once I realize that there is nothing there that's going to carry off the dance floor; I know that--but I'd really rather not go through it at all, if I could manage to avoid it.

Le sigh...

Because I am a grouch today, I shall gripe about a minor incident at the last milonga I went to, here in town. I was dancing with a guy--not my best, but not my worst either; he danced open embrace--when suddenly he let go of me entirely and spun away from me across the floor, utterly disregarding the line of dance. I just stood there, dumbfounded. I've (occasionally, when there was enough space) been spun by partners before and been able to follow, but I've never had one just leave me behind like that.

He quickly realized that whatever he was doing, I had not followed, and returned to where I was trying not to obstruct the line of dance.

"Sorry," he said, offering the embrace again, "I was trying a little salsa."

"I only dance tango," I replied, trying to speak politely.

"I guess it was a gamble," he shrugged.

And I did not say, At a tango dance evening, during a tango song? I'm not sure that was a gamble I would have made. (But what else is new around here?)


It's been kind of a rough few weeks, in my non-tango life. Today, I'm having a hard time deciding whether I'm too grouchy to try to go dancing tonight and face the likely madness of the Tango Bar, or too grouchy not to try to go dancing.

Of course, it all may change by the time I'd have to get ready to go; I guess I'll have to see what I think then.