After a couple of hours in Mel's company, I had to grudgingly admit that it wasn't too bad after all. I didn't want a room mate, but from what I'd heard there were very few people who would have been better. And if Mel was a little self-centred? Well, she was one of the best dancers I'd ever seen.
"No, you're doing that pirouette wrong," she said, as we hung out in one of the studios. "Look. Like this." She looked so much more graceful than me. I just looked like a dying duck - kept forgetting I had arms. Something that's always been a problem for me, with all the Irish dancing.
"I can't do it," I said, defeated by the combination of steps. We'd decided to work on our group performance while everyone was gone, since we were already behind.
"You can do it," she replied. "If you couldn't, you wouldn't be here, would you?"
"..." I allowed my silence to speak volumes.
"Look. You had brain surgery, right? But you carried on dancing afterwards - sooner than should have been possible. I know, because I can see that in the look on your face. You're that kind of person. So don't you dare tell me you can't do this, because I know you can."
I looked at her, rubbed my aching feet and got up. We didn't even have music yet - she said she'd find that after we had the steps. Seemed an odd way around to me, but there we go. I was letting her take control - she had much more experience than me.