It wasn’t a particularly special night out. We chose a hotel that had live music on Saturdays. Settling at the green tiled bar, we ordered our beers. I tried to ignore the smell of pool chlorine.

The seat next to me was open and a man sat down next to me, greeting me. He and I didn’t seem to have much in common, and I didn’t really feel like chatting. However, I quickly found out the details of his life which he volunteered freely. Soon, he was telling DH to dance with me. DH declined and rose to go smoke outside. My new friend turned to me and asked me to dance. I am not a fan of country music but decided to say yes. After all, he had called me a MILF twice in our conversation. It was the least I could do. Soon, I was being twirled at top speed by an experienced jitterbug dancer. Exhilarating. Exhausting. My loose, low-cut top spun up on my body and gave a view of more than intended but I was having too much fun to mind.

Out of breath I rejoined DH. I hadn’t danced in a long time. Soon, DH was being goaded into dancing with me by this new friend for a “belly rubber” (slow) song. I asked DH to dance, and this time he said yes. After I finally decided to let him lead, we glided back and forth, pressed close together and doing the only dance we know–the two-step.

After one more fast dance with the new friend, DH and I agreed it was time to go home. I put on my scarf and coat, and turned to this bearded man. I kissed him on the cheek and he kissed mine, then I held his face and kissed him on the lips as thanks for his dancing, conversation and encouragement.

DH and I left hand in hand, having danced together for the first time since 1992.

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