I have a thing for dancers. Always have always will. For the last several decades my "dancer thing" has been restricted to one dancer in particular,
Sandi Johnson. It is not that I don't still appreciate a well turned set of gams, it is the fact that my wife Sandi can kick higher than I can jump. I can't risk the pain for a momentary lustful memory of my wondering days. So I appreciate younger tersichorists covertly.
Since I have known her, Sandi has been taking dance classes, even to this day. Ballet, and Jazz classes primarily and unless she is working, she will go to one or both twice a week.
This morning I see her dressed in tights. I say, "Are you going to class?"
"No." she says, "Why?"
I answer, "Because you're in your dance clothes."
"These aren't dance clothes... These are just tights."
"Oh," I say, "They look like your dance toggs."
"Nope", says she.
After thinking about that for a moment I say, "What is the difference between the tights you have on and dance tights?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... those tights look exactly like what you would wear to ballet. How are they different."
Sandi gives me a look and says, "Because.... I am not wearing these tights to dance class today."
It is my inability to comprehend those subtle differences that has out that has kept me from becoming a dancer.
As you were,