Once upon a time there was a centipede that was amazingly good at
dancing with all hundred legs. All the creatures of the forest gathered to watch every time the centipede danced, and they were all duly impressed by the exquisite dance. But there was one creature that didn’t like watching the centipede dance—that was a tortoise.

“How can I get the centipede to stop dancing?" thought the tortoise. He
couldn’t just say he didn’t like the dance. Neither could he say he danced better himself, that would obviously be untrue. So he devised a fiendish plan.

He sat down and wrote a letter to the centipede. "O incomparable centipede," he wrote, "I am a devoted admirer of your exquisite dancing. I must know how you go about it when you dance. Is it that you lift your left leg number 28 and then your right leg number 39? Or do you begin by lifting your right leg number 17 before you lift your left leg number 44? I await your answer in breathless anticipation. Yours truly, Tortoise."

When the centipede read the letter, she immediately began to think
about what she actually did when she danced. Which leg did she lift first? And which leg next?

The centipede never danced again.

-- Excerpt from "Sophie's World" by Jostien Gaardner

"When I dance I do not think (about steps). When I think, I am just a ghost, I'm not dancing." Tete, milonguero, Buenos Aires.