There's been some discussion around tango bloggerville about behavior in BsAs milongas. Here's a repeat of a post more than two-years old. Some things are classic.
I enter the dance hall alone. Wearing a simple black dress, I pull out all the stops for a dramatic arrival, sweeping through the crowd behind the maitre d’ to a table on the edge of the dance floor. I walk tall and straight as if I were the headliner on stage at the Follies Bergeres. I make sure everyone sees me. If I had a full length fur, I’d drag it on the floor behind me. Then I cross my legs, and fan myself with a red Spanish fan.
I look around the room for partners with expectation and animation, seeking the eyes of men I would like to dance with. I’ve already changed into my tango shoes in the lobby or the taxi. I’m ready to dance and it shows. The only time I leave my table is to accept an invitation to dance or to go to the ladies’ room. Waiters bring my drinks, and there is no table hopping. When a stranger asks me to dance, I immediately am enclosed in his intimate embrace as if we were exchanging a loving hug, my arm around his neck, his breath on my cheek. Where am I?
You can be sure it’s in Buenos Aires.
1 comment:
It's funn how often I think of you and this blog entry. Now if I could only find a waiter to bring me that drink! Buenos Aires this aint.
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