Until Eve came along this was a man’s world. And now women are disappointed in the man they have recreated. But at least they let us still be men when we are dancing…

The reason I like dancing so much is that it’s the one time a man still gets to be a man without hemorrhaging guilt. No matter what the bawdy belle may be avowing between her politically correct antennae ears the fact remains that: He’s leading. She’s following. And anything else that may or may not matter can just get the hell out of the way.

Do you wanna dance, or not, Babe?!!

And for that three or four minute song everything is beautiful. There is a mellifluous peace and order amidst the world’s belligerent madness.

I just love it during Salsa lesson’s at Philadelphia’s Estilo studios at (7th and Reed), when a few overly assertive females are reluctant to surrender, if not capitulate, to the man’s guiding hands. Their body language demands to be in control.

“In here, it’s a man’s world, Darlin,” I tell them. “We can dance together. Or you can go off and dance with one of your schizophrenic friends.”

Not too long back I read something that sort of went like this:

If you really want a woman to love you, then you have to dance. And if you don’t want to dance, then you’re going to have to work extra hard to make a woman love you forever. And all the while you will always run the risk that she will leave you at any second for a man who knows how to Salsa.

Hmmm….

I think I got that. Which is why I always knew how to dance….

Well, sort of.

But after a few exes I started doing my homework on dancing and other romantic matters. Doesn’t mean I was – or still am — any good at them. Just means that when things got bad the nights got too long. And there’s nothing lonelier, even this far west of long Siberian nights, to not have a warm hand to hold.

And the only way to kick the doldrums in the butt is to swear to g-d Almighty that next time you promise to get it right.

Uh-huh.

So you get out and meet somebody new – hopefully with less nightmares and tortures than you. Someone you can move with in rhythm. Someone who waves hello dancing with her hips. And who smiles broader than Ipana. Someone you can feel wrapped in your arms. Absorb the smell of her hair. Hear her wonderful, seductive chatter. Curve her body into yours….

Okay, I think you’re on message.

As my dear ol’ bourbon sippin’ Pappy used to pontificate between those omnipotent puffs on his omniscient corn cob pipe: Dancing ain’t nothing but foreplay.

In other words, a perpendicular position for a horizontal desire.

Hmmm… So I guess he and mom were doing more than dancing, back in the hey-day.

The reason I’ve been more than nudged by all this is that, in many ways, I am quite comfortable with the way I dance around women.

Gee…. I wonder if that came out the way I meant it.

Look, I am no mystery. I amuse, abuse, afflict and comfort. From the first words out of my half-wit mouth, you know what you are getting. Someone who definitely isn’t uxorious, but who may be tempted to commit uxoricide. (Take the time to look them up. Such words can be nifty.)

And all that I seek is for women to be perfect. Which they are, because when a man first meets a woman he likes, he wants her to always stay the way she is. He doesn’t want her to change, an iota, or especially a pound.

However, when a woman meets a man she likes she is already thinking how she’s going to change the way he is. Shape him up, fine tune him, so to speak.

In the long run, both are sorely disappointed. Because nothing changes. And everything changes. In fact, the only time a woman really succeeds in changing a man the way she likes is when he is a baby.

And meanwhile, I am still dancing – faster than and slower than how some women have decided the way they want me to be. Which is dominant, subservient, romantic… and, of course, uxorious.

It has long been said that a woman wants a man who loves her passionately. It’s just as simple and as complicated as that.

Whereas, a man is more interested in a woman who is interested in him, than he is in a great pair of ….hmmm….let’s just say legs. Men are so easy.

And there we really have it, don’t we? There’s no dancing around it, is there? Men must be passionately interested in her and she only needs to be interested in him.

And that’s where dancing comes back into the picture. It changes how you walk and talk with each other. It brings your lips closer and your hands safely on her. It turns a living room into a ballroom where two hearts beat as one. You are moving together, and not apart.

Listen, until Eve came along this was a man’s world. And now women are dissatisfied in the man they have recreated. So, isn’t it nice that women still allow us to be men – at least when we’re dancing.

And dats yDrewIS on DIS penal colony.

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