Little did I imagine two months ago that today I’d be publishing a post like the one you’re about to read.
Do you remember my last week of September, the very-cheap-almost-free eating-out week? That week I took a couple of swing lessons at a dance school a friend of mine attends — later I realised he wasn’t the only friend of mine attending that school; or any other dance school around. Apparently, dancing swing is a current mainstream hobby. However, I can’t be bothered about avoiding mainstream.
On the other hand, regardless of not minding mainstreamness, I might draw a line at attending any swing-related event. Two Sundays ago I spent the evening dancing in a bar. On Tuesday I had my weekly lesson and I stayed for the jam session and practiced with other students. And how could I reject an invitation to go dancing on Thursday from 10 p.m. to who knows what time? And I obviously wouldn’t miss a whole Sunday in a tiny village doing workshops and taking intensive lessons — my legs were sore that night.
As much as I enjoy dancing — and God would know that I’ve got the moves if he existed —, I promise not overdoing it; my legs will be grateful.