Tanzlehrer - Dance Instructor

Not all men who are really into their dancing are necessarily gay. Many heterosexual guys find that being a good dancer is a great way to pick up the ladies - mostly fag-hags, but women nonetheless. I have to go completely off topic for a second to mention the brilliance of my auto-correct spellchecker. When I typed in faghags without a the hyphen, it transformed into Afghans. The image of a bunch of cocky metrosexuals pulling some crazy moves on the dance floor to impress a shy, huddled group of hijab-clad fundamentalist Muslim women just won‘t leave my head. But anyway, I’ll try and at least push into a small box in the corner of my mind’s eye, like a Blind Date contestant’s reaction headshot as their horribly scripted holiday video is played to the unduly gleeful audience. But getting back on point, or at least trying to, Bill Hicks said it best: ‘Real men don’t dance. They sit, sweat and curse.’ Unfortunately, as much as I’d like to adhere to this, I always seem to have enough drinks to get on the dance floor and make a complete tit out of myself. My moves have been described as spastic chic (or was it like a spastic chick? Neither is particularly flattering) and like you’ve got Parkinsons, only shitter. Whereas you look at these guys who are wasted but can still dance like an extra in Step Up 2. I’d never want to be anywhere near that accomplished, lest I get talent-spotted and have to quit my job as a projectionist to tour the world’s craziest suburban middle-class ghettos for oodles of cash. That would be awful. But if I could improve just a little to progress beyond being compared to sufferers of chronic degenerative motor conditions, I’d be a tiny bit happier.