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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Tango and Psychedlic Salads

Tonight was Tango class–hooray! I love my tango class and tonight I wasn’t fighting my shoes. No, I still haven’t broken down and bought real suede bottomed shoes, but I wore an older (reliable) pair with an ankle strap tonight. Much, much easier. We breezed through warm-ups and reviews and by the end of class were attemping a much more difficult step. I suppose after a few more weeks, I’ll feel like it was easy and now we are on to something really hard.

I wish the men in the class were… well, manlier. That they would hold themselves with more core strength, hold their arms with enough confidence that I could rely on them for balance and a stronger lead. I tower over our teacher–well, not tower, but I’ve got a few inches on him and with my heels tonight, quite a few. But he has the strength and the leading ability to make me feel like I’m being held and taken care of and lead. And I want that in a dance partner (I might even want that a little in a date.)

When I started taking tango, I quit therapy. I decided that I was going to get more out of dance than I would therapy (and that my savings would last longer.) Remember–therapy was about unlocking my feminine energy, becoming more of a woman. Sounds cheesy, but it was important. I had to open my energy and be more open to other’s energy. I had to learn that I can return a glance, hold a gaze, flirt. Dancing has been wonderful for that, better than therapy. Not that therapy wasn’t needed and didn’t serve a purpose, but this is like a weekly reminder of being feminine. Kind of a shabbat for my feminine energy, if you will.

Then at 8:01, I gingerly stepped onto the icey sidewalk, crossed the always dangerous Lincoln Avenue, and got into Ronnie’s nice warm car. I was too hungry to have any sort of opinion on where to eat, so we wound up–not at Jack’s for Chicken Pot Pies, but Leona’s for Psychedelic Salads. My stomach has been battling some poor food choices all week–some thai that raced through me, a couple nights when I had cheese and challah for dinner, too much smoked salmon (lox), and probably (although I hate to admit it) too much coffee.

Needless to say, I didn’t want heavy, greasy, or bonesticking. I wanted a sure thing, but no more soup. Leona’s it was. We are, at our cores, 62/67 year olds and not 28/33 year olds. We have exactly two restaurants we go to, where we order one thing off the menu, and water. Cause you can’t have caffiene so late and since he isn’t a drinker, I don’t drink when I’m with him–other than 18 gallons of water.

As always, it was good to catch up. Remember my trip to hell last weekend, otherwise known as Water Tower? It paid off handsomly and I have now given him not one, not two, but three perfect gifts. I saw this gift two months ago. Since I know how impatient I am with gifts (I want to give it as soon as it is in my hands) I didn’t buy it until this last week. Then I had it wrapped. At dinner tonight he proclaimed, “I hate getting presents, because then it obligates me to gift back.”

“Hmmm.” I said pointing at my bag, “That sucks. Cause I have a present for you.” He did not notice that the snowmen were wearing christmas scarves–whew. He did appreciate my inner battle about letting him open it tonight or making him take it to Argentina with him, to open during Hanukah. I was fairly confident that it was a good present, that it was one he would want to have for a boring night in Iguazu, but what if I was wrong.

What if it was acutally a TERRIBLE present? And I’d proclaimed it to be fantastic and made him pack it, take it to another country, only to open it in front of his family and find out–it sucks. Then I’d lose anything I’d won with my challah at the new year. “That girl, she bakes good bread, but she gives terrible gifts. And she made him pack it to and from another country? Doesn’t she know he could have put some steaks in that space?”

But I could have made him carry it and open it in Argentina, because in the end he liked it. Syzygy is the game, in case you are wondering, and he says he will take it to Argentina next week. But the christmas snowmen? They stayed at Leona’s.

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