I Felt Sorry For Me
I started out feeling good about myself.
I was, after all, on my first (and most likely only) date with Ms. LS -- a hot Taiwanese-American designer/Web master/architecture buff/educator/babe -- at the Stern Grove Festival, listening to the salsa band O-Maya turn up the heat on an otherwise foggy San Francisco summer day. She and I had gotten there an hour and a half before the show started. Even so, we arrived a bit too late to secure a spot on the level green around the stage. So from our seated position high in the surrounding wooded hills, we had to watch through the trees as the band began to play and the people below us began to party.
They jumped spontaneously to their feet and danced salsa, "walking" and gyrating their hips to the beat, spinning left, spinning right, and otherwise having a great time.
That’s when I noticed that LS had started to giggle.
"Look at them," she said, motioning toward the crowd. "They don’t know what they’re doing."
"Who?" I asked.
"Them," she said, pointing to a couple at the far edge of the field, near the stage. They were barely visible -- so, so small. "See how they’re knocking their knees? That’s because they’re not offset from one another."
I had no idea what she was talking about.
The woman looks like she’s teaching the man a simple dance step, LS explained. He must be a beginner, and they shouldn’t do salsa so close if they’re going to stand directly in front of one nother, especially if one of them is a beginner.
If you’re too close and your timing is off, then your legs will hit your partner’s, she added.
"See?" she pointed to the poor couple once more, who just got done, needless to say, banging knees again. "Now she’s given up on him."
We both laughed aloud as the couple sat down -- in dejection.
When we were through laughing, I couldn't help but to think about what just happened.
"Hey, that's pretty good," I told her. "You sound as if you know what you're talking about. Do you do salsa?"
She nodded.
"I used to teach beginning salsa when I was at UC Berkeley," she said. The image of this woman wiggling her hips popped into my mind. Man, I thought, it would sure be cool if this babe got up to dance for me. What a sight that would be!
But then, I paused to think: then she'd try to get me to dance with her! And I just don't do that.
It was right about then that she started giving me that look.
"No. No, not me," I blurted. "I don't dance."
"You don't do salsa?"
"Nope. Not salsa. Not anything," I replied. "I don't dance. Never have."
She stopped to look at me dead in the eye.
Then she said five simple words -- without a hint of emotion, without a hint that she meant anything more or anything less.
I was, after all, on my first (and most likely only) date with Ms. LS -- a hot Taiwanese-American designer/Web master/architecture buff/educator/babe -- at the Stern Grove Festival, listening to the salsa band O-Maya turn up the heat on an otherwise foggy San Francisco summer day. She and I had gotten there an hour and a half before the show started. Even so, we arrived a bit too late to secure a spot on the level green around the stage. So from our seated position high in the surrounding wooded hills, we had to watch through the trees as the band began to play and the people below us began to party.
They jumped spontaneously to their feet and danced salsa, "walking" and gyrating their hips to the beat, spinning left, spinning right, and otherwise having a great time.
That’s when I noticed that LS had started to giggle.
"Look at them," she said, motioning toward the crowd. "They don’t know what they’re doing."
"Who?" I asked.
"Them," she said, pointing to a couple at the far edge of the field, near the stage. They were barely visible -- so, so small. "See how they’re knocking their knees? That’s because they’re not offset from one another."
I had no idea what she was talking about.
The woman looks like she’s teaching the man a simple dance step, LS explained. He must be a beginner, and they shouldn’t do salsa so close if they’re going to stand directly in front of one nother, especially if one of them is a beginner.
If you’re too close and your timing is off, then your legs will hit your partner’s, she added.
"See?" she pointed to the poor couple once more, who just got done, needless to say, banging knees again. "Now she’s given up on him."
We both laughed aloud as the couple sat down -- in dejection.
When we were through laughing, I couldn't help but to think about what just happened.
"Hey, that's pretty good," I told her. "You sound as if you know what you're talking about. Do you do salsa?"
She nodded.
"I used to teach beginning salsa when I was at UC Berkeley," she said. The image of this woman wiggling her hips popped into my mind. Man, I thought, it would sure be cool if this babe got up to dance for me. What a sight that would be!
But then, I paused to think: then she'd try to get me to dance with her! And I just don't do that.
It was right about then that she started giving me that look.
"No. No, not me," I blurted. "I don't dance."
"You don't do salsa?"
"Nope. Not salsa. Not anything," I replied. "I don't dance. Never have."
She stopped to look at me dead in the eye.
Then she said five simple words -- without a hint of emotion, without a hint that she meant anything more or anything less.
"I feel sorry for you."
After she had turned back to look toward the band and crowd of dancers, I started to think I was somewhat of an oxymoron -- a Filipino man who doesn't dance.
After she had turned back to look toward the band and crowd of dancers, I started to think I was somewhat of an oxymoron -- a Filipino man who doesn't dance.
I started the day happy, but for the next few days, like LS, I kind of felt sorry for me, too.
posted by Unknown at 3:56 PM
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