Salsa Dancing

As I waited for my steak at Bern's Steakhouse, I heard a familiar chatter. It was a dialect I don't often hear in these parts. Three tables away, a couple and their friend were speaking Tagalog. Mother was thrilled. I knew what was going to happen next. She would dawdle during dinner so that we could get a chance to talk to them. As I cut it the medium rare sirloin, the woman passed us on her way to the restroom. On her way back, Mom gave her a smile and asked "Filipino kayo?" The woman replied "Oo naman. Nagtataka nga kami kung Pinoy din kayo." I had to hand it to Mom, she has this uncanny way of making friends everywhere unlike me who has this curtain. An ex says I have intimacy issues. I, of course, contest it. Anyway, the woman exchanged cards and invited us to her salsa class. Yes. She teaches salsa at a local dance studio. Mom, of course, thought it would be a terrific idea to drag my stepdad out to a salsa club on a Tuesday night. Plus, it gave her a reason to wear her new Cavalli gown from Neiman Marcus. The woman also invited me. So there you have it. To go or not to go. That is the question. I don't really know a lot about salsa dancing although I took ballroom dancing classes during highschool at the behest of my ex-girlfriend Shannon. I don't know. Maybe I should go. Maybe there'll be cute Pinoy guys there. Here's what salsa dancing looks like:


Here's a tip for those of you who have wives, gf's, bf's, mothers etc. who you go shopping with. Apparently Neiman Marcus only accepts Amex or cash. Mommmie Dearest conveniently "forgot" her Amex at home. So, the dutiful son had to dig into his LV wallet and fish out the Goldcard as he charged away with Mom's promise of "I'll pay you back." She never has and never will. Well, at least she paid for dinner.