But then, I discovered I had way too much to be afraid of. O wonderful, beautiful, magical tango...O spinning, soul-sucking maelstrom of paralyzing fear. Many a time I have woken up in the middle of the night, terrified and screaming, in the midst of a dream of a milonga with horrible dancers, bad music, and couples dancing exactly like one another...and I couldn't for the life of me find the exit!
So, without further ado, I present to you:
IRENE'S WORST FEARS IN TANGO: THE ILLUSTRATED GUIDE TO IRENE'S PERSONAL TANGO HELL
I'm afraid that once the milongueros have all gone to heaven, the only way women can experience tango is by dancing with nutty underage taxi dancers who only want to dance Nuevo.
I'm afraid that my parents will take up tango and then I will have to find other milongas to go to so I won't be embarrassed by their fishnet stockinged, rose biting, sequined fringed, high-kicking low-dipping disco ball ballroom bopping antics. Yes, my mom has dyed her hair purple. No, she doesn't look like Dame Edna - it would be a lot funnier and less excruciating if she did.
I'm afraid that Man Yung will accidentally get his limbs bitten off by a swarm of rabid kittens and then, until eternity on weekends, instead of dancing, we will be watching every "Die Hard" movie in existence. Over and over and over again.
I'm afraid that all the Tango DJs will stop playing popular and danceable music just because they want to be clever and "different from the rest". They will make us listen to tanda after tanda of either Canyengues or "Alternative". This makes me want to kill myself.
I'm afraid that Man Yung will find Fabio so alluring, he will run off with him on a horse into the setting sun or something.
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