Strangely, Rob and I have danced only once in the almost five years we’ve been together. The occasion was our engagement, and we danced to a mix he put together in front of a roaring fire in a cabin at Devil’s Den.
There was no dancing at our wedding, but it was a bit nontraditional in many respects anyway.
Part of the reason for the lack of dance is simply opportunity. We’ve had only two that I can recall. The first was the wedding reception for his nephew, but the venue was late and not kid friendly, so I ended up taking Dee back to the motel and he stayed on for the older girls. The second would have been a dance at a family reunion on his in-law’s side of the family, but he went and had that heart attack, so we didn’t attend.
A couple of weeks ago, the social committee showed up at his office door to plead for more attendees at the annual Christmas party.
“Would you like to go?” he asked.
“Would you?” I replied. “You aren’t the mingle with my co-workers type.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “but there will be dancing and I haven’t taken you dancing in a long time.”
“Technically you’ve never taken me dancing at all,” I pointed out, “because Devil’s Den was an in house thing.”
“Then I have been remiss and should correct that.”
We are going to dance then tonight. I am a terrible dancer. Ruined by Catholic school gym class instruction. But we will give it a go and hope I don’t take out any toes in the process.