… and Bachata!

So Salsa classes have been on Christopher and mine’s ‘Fun List’ (every couple should have one) for a while now and yesterday we braved the insecurities that public dancing (when sober) unearth and headed to the centre of Bristol and spent the very little that was left in our joint account on dancing classes (the list must be obeyed).

We got to a vaguely hispanic looking bar where dancing juice meant rum in a brownish water they had decided to term Bacardi and coke. Whilst drinking our water and rum Chris and I sussed out the rest of the clientele; lots of singles, a language school, many short men and lots of ladies wearing a late 90s/early 2000s combo of flared jeans with strappy sandals. I myself had decided on a pair of wedges my mother very kindly purchased for me as a sorry-you-are-no-longer-employed present. I’m planning on wearing them on an upcoming trip to Germany and thought a 3 hour Salsa class would be a great way to break them in. I haven’t been able to walk yet today.

We took our places on the ‘beginners’ section of the dance floor and started to learn the basic steps of Salsa. It was all very fun but I was there with a very handsome man and wanted to get all Salsa up on him. After a while we started partner work but Chris was not my partner, oh no. It turned out a big part of the class was a weird sort of Salsa speed dating in which ladies had to move on to the next man every 2 or so minutes. Two words: sweaty hands. Many, many sweaty, sweaty hands. Then it got worse! After our Salsa class the Bachata class started. In between the two I was given the chance to have a little dance with Chris and realised that he can only go where he’s looking, he literally cannot isolate where his head is facing from where his body is moving and therefore cannot Salsa at all.

So Bachata would have been a lovely thing for Chris and I to learn together because apparently it’s a much more sensual form of latin dancing, do I know this because I was told it whilst in the arms of my beloved? No, I know this because the complete stranger who was holding me close decided to tell me this and then look up into my eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. I say ‘up’ because I don’t know if it’s because I live with someone who is 6 ft. 5 but I have never seen so many small guys in one room before!

Maybe we’ll find couples Salsa classes, then again that does seem like something we should do when we’re in our 40s and are trying to want each other sexually again – perhaps we should stick to touching up short strangers for the time being…

One thought on “Salsa…

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