Time to tweak my theory: Spanish women stay so thin because they salsa like nobody's business.

Went to a club in L'Eixample last night called Mojito's to go salsa dancing with a couple of my roommates. It had a live band, a full house and the best mojito I've ever tasted. [The secret seems to be a splash of bitters.] Everyone there was tearing up the dance floor like they came shimmying out of the womb. That's pretty standard at Cuban weddings and parties in Miami, so I'm used to feeling like a silly white girl in situations involving salsa. But I was on the dance floor after a few mojitos, feeling pretty expert. It probably looked like I was having a seizure, but it's okay - what happens at Mojito's, stays at Mojito's.

I only danced with one Spanish guy, and only for a minute. When he took my hand and led me out to the floor, I told him in disgraceful Spanish that yo no sabes nada de salsa. I don't think he heard me. So I'm doing the basic steps that my roommate Kelly taught me, and things are going well...until he started spinning me around.

In salsa, that involves twirling in several directions, with your arms behind him and behind you and in the air and to the side and it's not something easy to improvise. I started cracking up - I was doing it all wrong, but it was hilarious. I thought he might see the humor in the situation, too. Instead, he walked away looking sort of disgusted.

I spent the rest of the evening dancing with Jamaicans and Italians, who, as the cultures they represented on the dance floor at Mojito's, are far more laid back about dancing salsa with a gringa. It was a blast.

That was the first time we'd gone out to a club or a bar that wasn't full of other American students from our program. It's about time - I'm tired of drinking beer and talking about Facebook.