Speaking of ballroom dancing- it's apparently all about archaic gender rolls, which explains a great deal about how my outlaws dance. I suspect that DoNa Conquistador is very difficult to lead, which is why one gets the impression that Don Conquistador is trying to bodily drag her around the dance floor. But more to my point- I'm much easier to lead than one would suspect. According to the instructors, I am unusually easy to lead for a beginning American female.
Unless I'm dancing with my cousin, whereupon I am possessed by five generations of my maternal ancestors and become intractable.
The bar was full of dudes with incredible non-ironic mustaches. I have been told that the truly awesome mustache is very difficult to grow, so I must give props. There was also a man with mutton chops and a trucker hat, having a beer with a eight year old boy. With a rat tail haircut. There may have been a jar of pickled eggs on the counter.
Then my cousin's friends showed up, lowering the tone of the place considerably. *
There's my grandmother stealing my brain again. It's made worse by the fact that just when I was surrounded by scruffy mountain men in varying stages of advanced inebriation, my high school guidance counselor walked by. He gave me a look which reduced me to an teenager who has just been told to please stop making out during class, thank you very much. I resisted the urge to yell, "I don't know these people! I haven't fallen in with a bad crowd! I've had only one beer! I would never drive under the influence! It's his fault!"
*When I'm not distrusting his ability to take strange syncopated steps and disparaging his friends, I'm very fond of my cousin. He's cheerful, sanguine, hardworking, and obliging. He one of the few people I know who is not a bundle of neuroses. (I love you, bundles of neuroses, I really do. But when I spend time with him and any other member of my family, our average concentration of irrational antipathies is close to socially acceptable.)
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