Bruce

His name was Bruce, and he was wearing a dress.

Well, not a dress, per se. It was more of an ivory chiffon skirt-and-woman's blouse ensemble, complete with stockings and a lovely turquoise necklace and matching earrings. Picture Tim Curry, with long scraggly hair, lipstick, blue eyeshadow and a dress, and you have a pretty accurate picture of Bruce. Only Bruce is about 6' 4". I don't know how tall Tim Curry is.

Bruce was my partner at a local contra dance that my friend Jen and I went to on Saturday. If you've never heard of contra dancing it's sort of square-dancing meets old-fashioned formal line dances, such as the Viennese Waltz. (Think of the ball room scene from The Sound of Music, but put everyone in really ugly/weird-looking clothes.) The dances generally feature live musicians and a caller. You don't need to know anyone there to enjoy yourself, and you switch partners after every dance.

Anyhow, Jen and I showed up to the dance, and as I was taking off my coat I noticed Bruce. "Is he wearing a ... dress?" I whispered to her. She responded that he was, indeed wearing women's clothing. She had danced with men in kilts before, but the chiffon skirt was new to her. "Unusual," she said.

We discussed the finer points of Bruce's apparel, then got down to the business of dancing. At one point, I ended up briefly partnering with Bruce during a dance. It was long enough for him to ask me for the next dance ... and really, how was I supposed to refuse? The thing about contra dancing is that you really don't dance all that much with your partner, because you are constantly moving up and down a line of people via various dance moves.

But Bruce was very nice. He had a very deep, masculine voice, and a five o'clock shadow. Broad shoulders and not much body fat. And pearly pink fingernail polish.

It was quite a night.