Argentinian tango

So I'm having dinner and a sesh with Radmila. We head over to catch Natalie's book-signing, eat, then out to Argentinian Tango. Radmila has been tangoing for years, has made the pilgrimage to Buenos Aires, and can tango with the best of them. Or the Seattle best, anyway.

I take my notebook. Turns out, tango is a communal activity. Most of the dancers in this ballroom overlooking the city lights, know each other. Everyone dances with everyone else.

Argentinian tango is a swoony, swayey dance, done with high gorgeous heels and twankling accordion music that sounds like Berlin just before the war. I'm not dancing, I'm writing and watching, wearing sneakers, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Every so often one of the beautifully dressed dancers sits by me and points out some of the fine points.

But ladies and gentlemen -- I got asked to dance three times. Even more miraculously, I laughed, took off my glasses, and said yes. One was a gentlemanly mercy dance, one was with Radmila, and one was with an older woman who wanted to hold me a LIT-tle too close. I have never tangoed before. But I have to say, I had a blast. It was like being a kid. You don't know the steps, everyone can see you don't, but you just go play anyway.

Twah-twahhhh-twa-twahhhhhhhhhh, twank
twah twahhhh twa twahhhhhhhhhh...

I felt a lot lighter coming home. It's been a long time since I went somewhere as just me. I'm always carrying my invisible Big Dream, my Theatre To Be. Tonight I wasn't even carrying my keys.