No, I haven't just executed the perfect ... er, one of these.
Nor am I ever likely too - I'd have to marry him.
What happened was that in a drive to reduce wardrobe crush and streamline the deciding-what-to-wear-tonight process, I separated all my tango options from my real-life gear and hung them in a wardrobe in another room. No more ferreting through hangers of ageing cardies, abandoned jeans and office-y dresses. Now I have glam at a glance.
Am I dismayed by this display of self-indulgence? A bit. Don't I think that with all the misery in the world my money could be better spent? Yup.
I confessed my sin to S and was immediately reassured. "You're so lucky to have another room with cupboard, I wish I did. Now that would be a real milestone - moving to another house because of tango."
Those not infected with the bug will find this reprehensible, if not just plain silly. It might be both, but it's also normal. So normal that tango shoe collection is the subject of one of series of deliciously sharp cartoons from Tangocynic.
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