(Alex, thank you ever so much for the idea!) Good evening. I have come to confess a most unfortunate weakness. I appear to have rhythm. There is a little Puritan living in my chest. He folds his tiny napkin and insists that he knows best. He says, “Control your breathing. Keep your collar rather high. A gentleman does not surrender to a syncopated thigh.” But then the band begins to stumble in a scandalous little way, and my sensible convictions start to wobble and sway. Oh, Lord, what a terrible sight: my morals in the corner and my shoes feeling light. I’m doing the Charleston against my better mind. A perfectly disgraceful little use of time. My soul says, “Be careful.” My feet say, “Too late.” There’s a sinner in my ankle and he’s feeling rather great. I’m doing the Charleston, Lord, forgive the view. I came to guard my dignity, but dignity withdrew. I used to fear temptation with a scholarly frown. I could hear a trumpet laughing and politely turn it down. I kept my little pleasures in a very tidy drawer, with a note that said “Not suitable” and a lock upon the door. But now the room is spinning like a badly written prayer, and some outrageous happiness is pulling up a chair. Oh dear, what a fall from grace: I caught my own reflection with a smile on its face. I’m doing the Charleston against my better mind. A perfectly disgraceful little use of time. My soul says, “Be careful.” My feet say, “Too late.” There’s a sinner in my ankle and he’s feeling rather great. I’m doing the Charleston, Lord, forgive the view. I came to guard my dignity, but dignity withdrew. I am not becoming wicked. Let us not exaggerate. I am merely being human at an inconvenient rate. No commandments have been broken. No cathedral has collapsed. Just a mildly nervous gentleman with his virtue slightly jazzed. I’m doing the Charleston against my better mind. A scandal in four quarters with a conscience left behind. My soul says, “Behave yourself.” My feet say, “My dear, no.” There’s a halo on the hatstand and a devil in the toe. I’m doing the Charleston, and between me and you, I rather like this nonsense that I’m not supposed to do. Good evening. I have made my confession. The Puritan is furious. The band has my permission. End
