fishydreams

I was ambushed a few weeks ago by a bunch of women who made their way into my lab. They were on the lookout for some bloke with Celtic blood who could be coerced into wearing a dress onstage and taking part in an Irish dancing routine.

Why they should have chosen me remains a mystery. I have no co-ordination or grace to speak of ,and I am nothing to look at but I do tick the boxes as far as gender and genetic provenance are concerned. In the end I did what I always do when surrounded by domineering women; I meekly acquiesced to their demands.

I´m glad I did though because we had a lot of fun. The routine was concocted and choreographed by Noele Roantree McEvoy, one of the Mums at school and she roped in a number of her friends and some other teachers. She and her daughter Amy are “proper” dancers which, in Irish dancing terms, means they can clatter their hooves against the floor 10,000 times per second while the top half of them looks like it is carved out wood. Other members of our troupe were less accomplished dancers and I, quite frankly, was crap.

Anyway this curious combination of genuine talent and genuine chaos won the night and our little routine was a great success. We had so much fun on the night that we asked if we could do it again and the audience gave us the thumbs up.

During our first attempt at the routine I had a wardrobe malfunction and my dress started drifting south under the influence of gravity and I suffered from what the tabloids would have called a “nip slip.” I did my best to try recover my poise but was trying so hard to remember my steps that I barely managed to fix things.

There were a lot of guys out in the audience who had had a lot to drink and I certainly didn´t want any of them, fueled with alcohol and, and mesmerized by the hypnotic grace of us whirling dervishes, to make a move on me after our dance and so I rapidly slipped out of my dress and rediscovered my lost masculinity.

All this daft nonsense was part of a fund raining PTA show that I had been coerced (not again!) into organizing. We don´t yet know how much we made but a similar event in November raised about 1500 euros. Hopefully we will do as well this time.

I´m the one in the middle.

When I wash´t making a fool of myself I tired to get away with a little standup. Here I am talking about a person who joined an online dating site and found only one match, which turned out to be a horse.