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7 Reasons I’m Afraid of Flamenco Dancers

Posted on February 10, 2010 in Posts | 1 comment





1.  Stamping.  The cacophonous, aggressive, rhythmical stamping that makes up part of the flamenco dance is terrifying.  Stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp, it’s the sound of a lone Nazi stormtrooper goose-stepping on an upturned tea-chest.  And that’s before they begin the more frenzied stamping and shuffling – which is beyond bone-chilling.



2.  Castanets.  Clickety clickety clickety click.  How do they work?  Nobody knows.  Bastard things.

3.  Clapping.  They clap too.  They start doing this when their castanets run out of batteries or they realise they’re impossible to use or they just become heartily sick of the clicking or something.  Perhaps they clap during the dance so that I don’t have to at the end.

4.  Shrieking.  They also shriek unexpectedly and make other startling noises.  Random shrieking is enough to put anyone ill-at-ease.  A woman started shrieking when we were in bed once.  It was most off-putting.

5.  Fans.  They’re not content with all the stamping, clicking, clapping and shrieking, oh no.  They wave fans about too.  Well, it’s not so much waving as a sort of semi-hypnotic swooping; all swooshing and whooshing like the flight of an errant kite.  The fan moves a lot, but always covers the face.  This is good, because at some point the fan will be lowered to uncover…

6.  The Man-Face.  Aaaarrrrrggghhhh!!!!  You’ve spent a while checking the dancer out – she has firm, shapely legs and a good figure – when she abruptly reveals the man-face.  And it’s not even the face of an attractive man.  All flamenco dancers have a man-face, every last one of them.  I don’t know why, but they do.  I know that there are Spanish ladies with nice faces, they just don’t let them dance the flamenco.  For some unfathomable reason, the flamenco is danced exclusively by otherwise elegant enchantresses with the powerful, chisel-jawed countenance of the Marlboro Man and the leaden-footed bearing of a startled horse in clogs.

7. The Dream.  I once dreamt that a flamenco dancer snuck into my bedroom and ate my cat.  I woke with a start exclaiming, “fffffnuduhuh!”  Scared the pants off me.  And I’m quite sure I went to bed wearing pants.

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1 Comment

  1. Funny even for a flamenco lover! 😀
    .-= Flamenco Paul´s last blog ..Flamenco Classes Melbourne =-.

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