me this week....
I'm not freakishly tall by any means. I think 5'8" is ok for a woman. I mean, of course I still get a little self conscious when I'm out in heels (taking me to well over 6') and all of my friends appear thousands of feet below the cloud line! I do seem to stoop a bit more but that's only because I can't possibly hear the conversation from my lofty position. I remain grateful that I can claw my way to the front of the crowd at a gig and be able to mosh in the front few lines without missing any of the hot band action.
This week though, I have had to re-assess my situation and have wished for the first time that I was just a little smaller....maybe 8 inches or so!
Swing dancing is to blame.
I had attended another class with a genius named Shane (my inappropriate crush for the winter, resplendent with tattoos and wearing trousers befitting any grandfather! Swoon.... but I digress) and we were to learn the slow drag. This is a swing dance for those times when the music slows and you're trying to woo the lady of your dreams. The man approaches, takes your hand and then thrusts his body into yours achieving contact from the chesticles to the hips. From there he swings you round and you endeavour to look a little like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing but with the man less shining torso a la Patrick Swayze-the delish and more flannelette shirt a la Doug-the idiot.
Here within, the problem lies.
What happens when a perfectly skilled Asian of less than average stature tries to swing you into one of these slow swing moves?
The old joke of the Doctor examining a woman's breasts, comes to mind.
"Madam, before I examine your breasts I shall have to numb the area...
....numb numb numb numb, num... yum..."
