On Monday, while I was looking for a company that can install a new automated alarm system at home, my wife told me that she wanted to take a dance class. Go for it my love, I told her. But no, I misunderstood, she wants us to take dance lessons. Really? Dance? Me? "Come now, my love. Don’t you remember when we opened the ball at our wedding and I accidentally sent you waltzing into the punch bowl?" I asked. I really doubt that I've improved since then with the exception of the duck dance at parties. Otherwise, I just sit and tap my feet. For me, the matter was closed. Yesterday, she came back from shopping with a pair of special shoes in her bags. She must have fallen on her head! Tango on top of that. Do I look like I have the 'shape' of a tango dancer? I get the impression she hasn’t looked at me more in recent years if she thinks that I won't look grotesque dancing the tango. I will never dance the tango, I told her. No no, she said, the tango will sculpt our bodies, we’ll have fun, we’ll make new friends, it will de-stress us, the movements are sensual and easy to learn, she said. It will be beneficial physically, emotionally and even spiritually, she said. De-stress me? I will certainly not going to relax in learning the tango, I'm going to be stretched tighter than a tight-rope! I grant you that women who dance the tango are glamorous and men have class in their black suits and their red boutonnière but I'll probably just look like a constipated penguin. No way I am going to make myself look ridiculous, I told her firmly!!We start Sunday. I know... But I'll do anything for the love of my life.