ABSTRACT
In my adolescence, I truly believed that because I couldn’t dance, I would never meet a nice man, get married and have children. In other words, I was doomed to no life at all. Most of my contemporaries would go on to real lives because they attended Miss Ford’s Dance School. There, they learned to foxtrot, waltz, and even (at the end of the class only), fast dance. I never asked to go to Miss Ford’s classes because I had attended some dance classes as part of the school gym programme. Those classes were such an experience of humiliation that I chose the no-life option. My mother never suggested Miss Ford’s lessons: I think she thought of dancing as some kind of informal fun and, besides, there was a kind of pretentiousness associated with Miss Ford’s that we were supposed to disdain.
