It takes two to tango

Well, my mother is in town at the moment, having flown over from the UK for a couple of weeks. I thought I would take her along to the last night of the dance classes to show off my new moves (the fact that these moves are still relatively uncoordinated is something we can gloss over for now). A particularly cheery waltz trilled out at some point and my mother said ‘hey, let’s have a dance to this one!’. Smugly, I thought, yes, I’ll show the rest of them, knowing that my mother was bound to be good at dancing – well, she’s over 60, isn’t she, surely a pre-requisite for knowing the steps; it’s just that generation after all (vague concept). I was also relieved because my regular partner had started learning how to dance from zero at the cost of my injured toes and bumped knees. For the past 6 months, I had been marched and steered and driven and knocked and bumped around the hall by a debutante who should have had ‘L’ plates firmly attached to his back to warn others of his impending presence, ‘L’ of course standing for ‘laugh’ as in (in good cockney fashion) ‘you’re ‘aving a laugh, ent yer?’ We stood up, my mother a good foot shorter than I am (and I’m by no means tall) and started to ‘dance’. My first impression was, oh God, she can’t dance but by then, there was no way I could make her stop short of clutching at my chest and feigning a sudden (but passing) heart attack. Her moves were all staccato as if she had really bad indigestion combined with uncontrollable epilepsy. Even labelling her moves ‘contemporary tango’ wouldn’t have excused this diabolical interpretation of this classic and graceful dance. She grinned contentedly, her bouffant hairdo whirling round in rhapsodical delight. I wanted for this moment to be finished and forgotten but the music continued. I caught sight of my fellow dancers steering clear of the out of control duo. The dance instructor looked unhappy. At long last, the waltz came to an end. ‘There, I’ve taught you how to dance a real waltz!’ my mother proclaimed triumphantly trotting off to chat amiably to one of the bemused spectators. Yes, I can honestly say I’ve made a memorable impression in that group.