Ladies and gentlemen, I was not planning to become historical. But then the drummer counted in. I came in wearing sensible shoes, a jacket of restrained regret. I had a quiet conversation with a chair I nearly met. The band began politely, then the bass became unwise. And something in my ankle opened both its eyes. I said, “No, dear body, we have had this talk before.” But rhythm found the handle and politely kicked the door. My left foot signed a treaty. My right foot lost the plot. And dignity was asking if that was all I’d got. I tried to stand for reason. I tried to stand for grace. But the twist had other papers and a frankly legal case. Twist, twist, the twist of dignity. My better judgement slipped. My tie went east, my hips went west, and my reputation dipped. Twist, twist, with tragic courtesy. I tried to look refined, but the sinner in my ankle had a very modern mind. A lady near the jukebox said, “You’re doing rather well.” I bowed with half my shoulders and the rest began to rebel. The saxophone was laughing. The piano took my side. My knees filed complaints, but they were clearly overruled inside. I thought of ancient wisdom. I thought of noble art. But then the snare drum winked and compromised my heart. No sermon could protect me. No philosophy could stay. When the little devil in my foot said, “Sir, this way.” I tried to leave with honour. I tried to keep control. But the floor had formed a committee and elected my soul. Twist, twist, the twist of dignity. My better judgement slipped. My tie went east, my hips went west, and my reputation dipped. Twist, twist, with tragic courtesy. I tried to look refined, but the sinner in my ankle had a very modern mind. Do not misunderstand me. I remain a serious man. I merely discovered that seriousness has a surprisingly flexible plan. One may speak of virtue. One may speak of taste. But never trust a gentleman from the ankle to the waist. Twist, twist, the twist of dignity. The evidence was clear. My shadow danced before me and my conscience disappeared. Twist, twist, with vintage gravity. I lost, but not in vain. For a man who cannot twist a little has suffered twice the pain. I have recovered my jacket. My dignity is missing. Please check near the drums.
