Tag Archives: guys who dance salsa

Mr. Nice Guy Versus Mr. Too Cocky For You

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Mr. Nice Guy

Last Tuesday, at a salsa social in Bellini, I was sitting in my usual corner, having a cigarette break, when this familiar-looking guy, took the empty seat next to mine.

I have seen him at salsa parties on many occasions and yet I never danced with him. He never asked me to dance either. I remember him because he is one of those few guys that I always see at salsa socials, but never on the dance floor.

Between puffs of cigarette, he managed to catch my eye and pull a little smile. I smiled back. In my head, I was counting how many seconds it will take for him to say something.

One. Two. Three–

“Hi, how are you?” He asked after the fourth second.

“I’m good, thanks.” I said. “I think we’ve met before, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s Mr. Nice Guy.” He said, as he reached his hand out.

I immediately put my cigarette on the ashtray even though I was only halfway through.

“Jennifer.” I said, taking his hand, and making a mental note of how his hand feels warm and comfortable against mine.

“Would you like to dance?” He said in a nervous tone as though he was already sure I was going to say no. “I’ve only started taking classes, but I will really appreciate it if I can try what I learned with you.”

My heart melted with his honesty.

“Of course.” I said without hesitation.

He pulled me to the dance floor the moment Como Tiemba El Alma started playing in the background. It was a good start, and a good finish, and just like most of the beautiful dances, it was beautiful and unexpected.

Mr. Too Cocky For You 

Last Tuesday, at a salsa social in Bellini, I was sitting in my usual corner, having a cigarette break, when this familiar-looking guy, took the empty seat next to mine.

I have seen him at salsa parties on many occasions and yet I never danced with him. He never asked me to dance either. I remember him because he is one of those few guys that I always see at salsa socials, but never on the dance floor.

From my peripheral view, I noticed that he looked away from the dance floor to look at my direction.

“How are you?” He said in a very casual tone.

“Good, thanks.” I said. “I think we’ve met before, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.” I said feeling embarrassed.

“I can’t remember your name either.” He said in a very condescending tone. It was the kind of tone that was screaming are you kidding me? You don’t know who I am?

“It’s Jennifer,” I said reaching my hand to his direction.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that for a second. My name’s Mr. Too Cocky For You.”

Of course you ‘forgot that for a second’ because there is heaps of asian Jennifers who dance salsa in Cairo.

I immediately lit a second cigarette and rolled my eye.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asked. “You don’t look ok.”

Well who are you to decide whether or not I look ok? For one, you are crossing the borders of my space.

“I’m alright, thanks.” I managed to say instead.

“Are you sure?” He asked, raising an eyebrow that probably meant he was so sure that I wasn’t sure I’m ok.

I think I would be ok if only you can stop talking in your fake british accent for Christ’s sake! And that’s a big statement coming from me considering I don’t even believe in Christ!

“I think I would know if I’m not ok, thanks.” I said as politely as I could.

“What is the problem?” He probed.

That was just the nudge I needed.

“You want to know what’s the problem? You’re strange. And you’re so in my face.”

“In your face? I’m not too close, I don’t think.” He said defensively.

His arrogance only proved his ignorance.

“I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, what do you mean then?”

“You suck at small talk. Usually, what happens is that you ask how I am and I say I’m alright. And I ask how you are and you say you’re fine. And that’s the end of the story. I keep my mouth shut, and you keep your mouth shut. Or you get up from your seat and move on to some place else where you can stick your nose in someone else’s business. You asked me if I was ok three times, and I gave you the same answer three times. Which is more than necessary. Usually, after I lit up another cigarette, you will take that as a hint that no, I don’t want to talk to you. And yes, my cigarette is a much better company. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m gonna go dance.”

Burn.

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