Scurries Up & Scurries Down

A group of us got together  a couple of weekends ago and rented a limo for a pre-Christmas evening of drinking and drinking. 

The sole express purpose was to stop at a variety of bars and drink. 

My Mister was a little surprised when I ended up snockered by midnight. 

One of the places we stopped at was supposed to have a fun band, Disco Inferno. Instead, they had a Latin band, which brought out my inner Latina. And my drunken proclamations that I needed to take on a Latin Lover  at some point in my life.  Which really sounds quite exotic, even in the sober light of day. 

There was so much tight bright clothes and big hair and lower-body rhythm in that room. Oh, how I wanted to blend in and Salsa and Rumba and all those fun little dances. I had my toes a-tappin', and an old Senor tapped me for a dance as soon as the band started up.

What I think I look like on the dance floor:

The reality is more like this:

El Senor told me I needed to relax and let him lead, and I just wasn't able to do that. I'm used to having to set the pace and rhythm. I couldn't just let it happen. 

He dumped me half way into the first dance.  Told me, "Maybe you come back, next time Senorita, after a little more practice."

It's a good thing my Polish Boy doesn't mind my moves.