Sashay sentence

I went to English country dancing this past Tuesday, second time in two weeks. There’s a wide range of dance and interpersonal skills, but by and large everyone’s wonderfully welcoming. There’s this one guy, though, call him Buck, who gives the appearance of having been condemned to country dance by a cruelly Dickensian judge. (What could his crime have been, for which this is the punishment?) He’s not a good dancer, but there are quite a few not-good dancers; but at least the others smile, if not at their mistakes, then when they finally get it right. He scowls the entire time. Seriously, I don’t think I saw his brows unclench, let alone his mouth break a flat line, for the entire three hours. Even the purely conventional smile at one’s spin companion is beyond him. If he’s suffering so much, why is he there? Mystery.


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