I go to milongas to socialise and dance. If I want to dance, then I can. If I want to rest and watch other people, then I can. It’s up to me.
But hold on, what’s this? The organiser has decided that everyone has got to stop dancing. It has gone quiet, the lights have come up, and someone has got hold of a microphone. Oh, good grief, it’s ‘show dance’ time. There follows 10 minutes of my life wasted whilst a couple prance around and try to show off.
Listen; if I want to watch couples dancing then I can sit and watch the other dancers all night long.
And if I want to watch choreographed dances that are only loosely connected to the salon-style Tango that I love then I can stay at home on the sofa and watch them on YouTube.
So I get kind of grumpy whenever there are show dances at a Milonga, and if you want to find me, look in the bar or the loos; I’ll be the one muttering to himself and checking his phone for messages from Kylie Minogue.