Hips don't lie.

Was doing a variation on salsa dancing last night at a 30th in the Mint Bar. I use the term dancing lightly. Savage swaying might be more appropriate.
There is some absurd self-consciousness built-in to the Irish psyche. It is sad and depressing. The Latino and Spanish contingency present shook and swayed those hips, spun or were spun at high velocities, clutched or were clutched at alarming levels of intimacy. Alarming for the Paddies.
The blokes among us would not grace the dance floor until sufficient levels of alcohol were drunk and even then they had difficulty placing their hands on a woman's hip. The ladies couldn't possibly be seen sweating on a dance floor.
One Irish jingle was played during the night and two of us took the floor in a fantastic spoof of Riverdance which garnered a few claps of applause more in sympathy than anything else one suspects. Service was immediately resumed and hips shifted effortlessly from side to side.
One noted that if an Irish bloke danced like a Spanish guy he'd be accused of groping but when a Spanish bloke did it he was fantastically limber. And they were; hips don't lie.