I already felt apprehensive about learning to ballroom dance with so many onlookers and so steeled my nerves with half a pot of tea and about a dozen scones. At 6 foot 4, I was sure to project all the grace and refinement of a giraffe being birthed. Now, I'm not at all shy about being gay, but when my instructor showed up —another man—I felt as though a spotlight was trained on me too. Surprisingly, though, I picked the steps up quite readily, and, a waltz, a fox-trot, and a samba later, that feeling of being scrutinized melted away. That is, until the end of my lesson, when a bow-tie-clad gentleman in his 70s (paired with a woman of similar height and build) leaned into us and asked, "Is this your first time dancing? You did quite well." And, just before they twirled off, he added, "I wish we could have danced together like you two back in my day."