061009 giving up on love

So tonight at flamenco I found myself aching for a camera, oh please! A snapshot of my life for the punters!

I am in the adult education centre, surrounded by an assortment of twisted allsorts.

There’s this woman I can’t bear whose name I forget instantly. She is like a string bean with something disgusting bursting from her intestines. Her face is pompous, she is very English, very unaware and intensely insulting to be near.

Her mate from tennis, on the other hand, is great. Ann. She has a labrador called Zoe, so I immediately assume the persona of bitch and we hit it off, much to string bean’s downturned-mouth disapproval.

Spontaneous laughter abounding at the crazy Spanish gypsy before us, who bears her aged but beautiful thighs at us and encourages us to know ourselves and dance. Oh yeah.

Not really the kind of advice given to a sex-crazed truthsaker, but what the hey, let’s make a bad situation worse by unleashing my sexuality on the conservative streets and suburban housewives.

The music changes for the mood of the dance, and Cecilia the teacher tries a modern slant on things.

‘Hokay, I think thith one you know’.

Please no, it can’t be……………….and off we strut, second-hand skirts bustling as we are told to let out this attitude. You are in a room with all these women and one man, and you will get him!

Welllllllllllllll, not being big-headed or anything, but when you look at what’s on offer here, I’m not going to have to try too hard.

One of my faves, Maria, really lets rip, though still holding on to something to prevent a leakage.

‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me’. She mouths. Oh yeah, she knows the lyrics, how very modern of her!

So after stifling my raucous laughter at this wretched display of womanhood, I assume a slow, panther-like strut, shoulders back, face not giving it away. Work for it baby, you’ve got a girlfriend after all………………..

‘oh………deeeeeeeeeeeefellent!’ Cecilia smoulders at me.

I mouth, ‘yeah, I don’t give a shit about him or her’.

And this, oh my poor readers, is unfortunately true. I have decided to play the oblivious card. Some say hard to get. I say nigh-on impossible. And the menopausals are strutting around out of time stamping their feet, and I’m coolly swinging my beflamencoed hips.

I win. But I go to bed alone.