In a cozy house in a small village, Eloy always eagerly awaits the arrival of his grandchildren. Each night, around a crackling fireplace and with a mischievous smile, he begins his tales by saying, “Did you know that when I was young, we once organized a hide-and-seek tournament in the Egyptian desert with the pharaohs as referees? Yes, yes, you heard that right! But that’s not the story I wanted to tell you today.”
Eloy settled into his armchair, his hat tilting slightly forward, and his eyes sparkled with the mischief that only the best stories could awaken. The grandchildren gathered around, eager to hear the next adventure.
“Today, dear children, I’m going to tell you how I learned to dance the tango in Argentina at a very special contest where the judges were none other than penguins.”
It turns out that, many years ago, I found myself in the vibrant city of Buenos Aires, right in the heart of one of the most passionate cities in the world. It all began on a hot summer day when, by a twist of fate or perhaps the whim of a playful god, I was invited to participate in a tango contest.
Who could resist such an invitation, especially when it took place in a tango club so famous that even romance novelists mention it in their books? The only problem was that I had never danced the tango before, and I had no idea how to avoid stepping on my partner’s toes as we twirled around the dance floor.
So, I signed up for some quick tango lessons, hoping to learn enough to avoid complete humiliation. The instructors were passionate and energetic, their movements so graceful they seemed to defy gravity. They taught me to take those fluid steps and spin as if we were floating on a cloud of silk.
The day of the contest arrived, and to my surprise, I discovered that the event was anything but conventional. For starters, the dance floor was decorated like a giant igloo, with fake snow and lights flickering like the northern lights. Moreover, the judges, instead of being regular dance critics, were a group of penguins dressed in formal attire and monocles.
One of the penguins, who seemed to be the leader, looked at me with a mix of curiosity and challenge. I decided that if I was going to be judged by penguins, I had to give it my all. So, with my hat snugly in place and my heart beating like a runaway drum, I stepped onto the dance floor with my dance partner.
The music began, and as the violins and bandoneón filled the air with fiery melodies, we launched ourselves onto the floor. My steps were clumsy at first, but soon I began to follow the rhythm, and before I knew it, we were dancing as if we had been practicing together for years.
The climax of the dance came when we launched into a spectacular spin, perfectly timed with a bandoneón solo that seemed to have been written just for us. The penguins, with their monocles instead of score sheets, looked thrilled, and one of them even clapped with their flippers.
When the music ended, we stood in the center of the floor, panting but happy. The penguins deliberated with great seriousness, and to my surprise, they awarded us the first prize: a medal made of ice carved in the shape of a penguin. The applause was so loud that it almost seemed like the entire igloo was collapsing.
And so, thanks to the magic of tango and a very unique group of judges, I became the champion of a tango contest where the judges were penguins. Not only did I learn to dance tango, but I also discovered that sometimes the best moments in life come with a touch of the absurd.
“And so, dear children, this story comes to an end. Now, it’s off to bed! Tomorrow, I’ll tell you how I became the mayor of a small town in the Wild West. Good night and sweet dreams.”
With one last look at his grandchildren, Eloy turned off the light by the fireplace. The story of the tango with penguins had been a wonderful adventure, and he was eager to share more extraordinary tales the next day.