Dancing classes…

Yeah…riiiight…

So. Dancing classes. Yes...

Well, my parents had some curious yardsticks when it came to the suitability or otherwise of any potential partners. They were judged on their sense of humour, looks, hair-length, and ability to dance. In that order.

When I met A, I asked him if he could dance. “Dance??” He said. “I TEACH dancing!”

Thrilled, I reported back to the parents. And waited for the next opportunity. Which turned out to be a 1920s fancy dress party. Aha, thought I. And got all dolled up.

After a surprising amount of badgering and maneuvering, I finally cornered him, ready to rock’n’roll the night away. And realised within a nanosecond that I’d been well and truly had.

I married him anyway. Eventually. Although this should really have given me pause for thought.

But I never confessed to the parents.