Curse of the Merengue

I have something to confess.  I do not like Latin music.  I know it's adored by most of the world's population, and I have tried to appreciate it, but it in no way speaks to me.  Many have asked, with the best of intentions: 

"Do you want to come hear this amazing Brazilian singer?" (No, I don't.) 

"We're going Salsa dancing, why don't you come along?"  (Because it will lead to great suffering.)

"Oh, but this band from Colombia is amazing - I'm certain you'll like them." (Your certainty is baseless.)

So, I'm visiting a friend in Washington DC, and she took me to her swanky office party at the World Bank. The party was fabulous - the food was amazing, from the red velvet cupcakes to the ridiculous array of martinis, and Santa was in attendance.  The dancing was also terrific because the DJ understood the crowd and played fun pop music from all over the world.  As one might expect, every fourth or fifth song was a Latin American number, and in the midst of it all, my friend admitted to me that she didn't much care for Latin music.  I was thrilled to tell her that I felt the same, and we spent the next ten minutes commiserating about being a misunderstood minority in a world where Salsa dancing is a default activity for the young professional demographic.  Then she turned around and introduced me to a colleague of hers.  We started chatting, and the colleague's friend asked me to dance.  Being in a party mood, I said yes, but then realized with horror what I had agreed to when he asked 

"Do you know the Merengue?" 

My heart sank. 

"No, no I don't." 

(Actually, I have been taught the Merengue many times, but my otherwise excellent physical memory fails me when it comes to Latin dancing.) So, I was polite and learned the Merengue.  Again.  It was not fun.  A mere two hours later, I do not remember the steps.  I think the ghost of Carmen Miranda heard my complaining and wanted to teach me a lesson, but I'm still not sure what the lesson is. Will this nightmare never end?