Sorry for dancing.

No, the title to this post is not a joke.  They made me dance.  In public.  For hours.  Those of you who have actually seen me (or my sister Megan, who is equally bad if not more embarrassing) on a dance floor understand the seriousness of this situation.   Whenever my body starts moving in any semblance of dancing my thumbs and shoulders take on a life of their own.  My dancing been compared to the seizure-like movements of Elaine from "Seinfeld" on more than one occasion.  I have accepted it as a part of my personality.  In fact my sister and I have come to enjoy dancing in public simply for the humor of it.  But there is no humor in dancing here.  It's a serious business.  And these people seriously thought I could dance - for serious.  Even after I told them that dancing wasn't one of my strengths - that, honestly, I have no rhythm - they insisted I was being ridiculous and dragged me onto the dance floor.  Needless to say, it was an interesting night.  Allow me to start from the beginning.

 

After I moved into my new hotel on Saturday, my Argentine friend Tutti invited me to do something with him and his friends that night.  He said he'd pick me up in a few hours; it was already 8:45 p.m.  Unlike the U.S., people here don't even start thinking about going out until the wee hours of the morning.  Therefore, they don't start socially drinking until around 10 or 11 p.m.  And when I say "socially drinking" I mean it.  It almost seems as if they just want something to do while enjoying each other's company.  Of course, people still get drunk and party here, but the people my age are more mature about their alcohol intake than in the States.

 

About ten people ended up coming to Tutti’s place.  I met everyone as they came in and was surprised at how laid back everybody was. There was no ceremony, for lack of a better word, of introducing me or anyone else in the room.  They would kiss me on the cheek as they made their way around the room, say hello and their name, and move on.  Strangely, it made me feel more comfortable.  Looking back I realize I could have perceived it that they didn’t care whether I was there or not; just another person from the States visiting for a little while.  But at the time I just felt relieved that I wasn’t getting a bunch of questions and being forced to embarrass myself with my terrible Spanish in front of all these strangers.

 

I sat there, sipping my beer, listening to them talk to each other for a long time.  I was surprised to find that I could understand some of what they were saying, or at least figure out the gist of the conversation.  Occasionally one of the girls would explain in English the details about what they were talking about, or ask me a question about myself.  After we ate the most delicious, life-changing beef empanadas that have ever crossed the threshold of my mouth, the girls asked me more about myself – and insisted I answer in Spanish.  After about ten minutes of blushing and stumbling all over my words, we ended up getting into an actual conversation.  I realized that I have a more solid foundation for Spanish than I thought.  If I keep practicing speaking, and study a couple of concepts, I should improve pretty quickly.

 

Some other girls from the States showed up around 2, but they weren’t very friendly.  The girls from Argentina asked me if I wanted to go talk to the American girls in English.  I explained that if I had wanted to speak with people from the U.S. I would have stayed in the States.  They all started laughing at this and moved their chairs around so I was sitting in the middle of all of them.  They had been welcoming all evening, but after that comment they treated me as if I had been their friend for years.

 

We left for the club around 3 a.m.  I went to follow the boys to the bar, while the girls headed toward the dance floor, but one of the girls grabbed my arm and dragged me with her.  I kept telling her I couldn’t dance, but she shook her head and said everyone can dance.  Of course, then she started moving as if there wasn’t a bone in her body.  The other girls were pretty good, too.  As I stood there, awkwardly moving from side to side, I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation and how much funnier it would be if my sister were there.  Megan would have just busted out some ridiculous move and been proud of her inept movements.  So, that’s pretty much what I did.  I just started moving to what I assumed was the beat, and the girls told me I was doing great.  Maybe they were being sincere; it’s more likely they were being kind.  It took some concentration to make sure my thumbs didn't stick out and my shoulders weren't bobbing all over the place.  After a time I noticed the girls imitating some of my more ridiculous moves, turning them into a real dancing.  My first thought was that I hope they don't think this is how everyone from the States dances.  If so, I just gave an entire nation a bad reputation.  But my second, the one that brought a smile to my face, was that Megan would be so proud.