false

If you call The Car Guys, they will ask for your name and then shout “No last names!” as if your identity must be protected at all costs.

It’s a funny shtick and it enforces a good rule: On a radio talk show, its best to avoid getting too personal.

This rule has many corollaries, of course, because in addition to “No last names!” protecting your identity requires:

No phone numbers.
No email.
No coffee, no dinner, no drinks.
No running into you on the street or at the store.
Good heaven, no parties!

No talking about yourself.
No asking about me.
No “What do you do for a living?”
No “How was your day?”
No chatting for more than three minutes.

No flirting.
No innuendoes, no double entendres
No complaining when I walk away mid-dirty joke, even if it is also mid-dance.

No unnecessary physical contact.
No holding hands while the teacher talks.
No wrapping your arm around my waist as you walk me back to my table.
No staying in the embrace between dances.
No cabaceo, what the heck, no eye contact at all.
None of that cheek-kissing stuff.
Good grief, no hugs!

No carpooling.
No walking me to my car.
No holding the door open for me, then following me out.

I come and go alone. Always.
There is good reason for this: Nina scolds me for dancing excessively with a couple of leads. People will notice and gossip, she warns.
I say, Notice this:
I come and go alone. Always.

No asking me to dance if I don’t know you already.
No asking me the next logical question.
No laughing as I sit back, stumped.


You have a lot of rules, my friend Karen says.

Not really. Those are just corollaries. I have only one rule:

No making friends.

I didn’t join tango to make friends. I joined because Shane said it’s a good dance for introspective people. That means you stay over there on your side of the embrace and do your thing. I’ll stay over here and do mine.

I like open space, inner and outer. Boundaries arranged in series create a buffer zone that preserves my open space even when I am standing inside the enclosure of the closest embrace.

The first time a lead asked me what I do for a living, I gave him a look so fierce he nearly ran when the teacher called “Change partners!”

The next time someone asked me what I do for a living, I told him. I asked him back. I let him buy me a glass of wine. We chatted. I do not regret it.

The first time someone I didn’t know asked me to dance, I was so unnerved I left the building. Grabbed my things and left. Grabbed all of the things I had brought with me but one: Shane.

The next time someone I didn’t know asked me to dance, I said yes. Gritted my teeth and enjoyed it. That was Stan. I do not regret it.

I know what a slippery slope is. I knew it when I took the first step.

I have traveled many a slippery slope. Who hasn’t? You can pick your way, and not every path leads down.

But I am not picking my way along the path I intended. In the past week, I’ve broken almost every one of my corollaries. More to the point, I have broken my rule. The only rule I had. I wouldn’t say I’ve made a friend yet, but I am not preventing it. I am allowing things to unfold.

“I’m your friend,” Kari reminds me.

Yes.

Well.

Dammit.

What am I supposed to do with a friend?

More to the point, what am I supposed to do without my rule, its many corollaries, my boundaries in series, my buffer?

You, stay over there on your side of the embrace for now. I will stay over here on mine.