Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.
I’ve borrowed this testimonial about an encounter with a rural farmer in Tipperary (RFIT) from one of the guys in my class (GIMC).
GIMC “So can you tell me why you came in today?”
RFIT “I actually feel much better, but I didn’t want to be rude and not turn up for the appointment.”
GIMC “Oh, thanks. Well, what was the trouble then?”
RFIT “Excessive sweating, I find it very embarrassing.”
GIMC “I see. (thoughtful pause) And when did you first notice the problem?”
RFIT “At my quick-step lessons.”
GIMC “The quick-step??! I’ve been meaning to learn.”
RFIT “Would you like me to show you a few steps? I’ll have to lead though.”
GIMC “Yeah!”
And so they danced around the small examination room for a few rounds until a nurse knocked on the door to see what the commotion was about. I like to imagine that in that moment of being caught in each others arms they feigned the postures of a fistfight.
