dizzy...

Last Thursday was a great time, as expected, with Anna in tow. One fishbowl already had her feeling fabulous and we were good to go. Eventually a small posse headed to Joe's to spank the planks. I don't know why I think I can dance after drinking. Someone should stop me. But an amazing thing happened at that crazy-dirty bar that night. Anna's friend started swing dancing with me, and we were having a dandy time. I passed him off to Anna so she could be in on the action and soon some of his friends joined us. His buddy said, "You want to swing dance? I'll dance with you." And he swung me around and spun me in circles after circles and behind the backs and dippity-do-dahs and more spins and turns and twirls. And he just kept dancing with me and I know I had to look as silly as all get-out with a stupid smile that would not go away. Because I'm a big sucker for great swing dancing, and as long as he didn't let go, I kept hanging on. And it's kind of a weird feeling to explain, and maybe even a cheesy one to attempt to try. But for once in a long long time I was really genuinely happy. Those care-free four minutes were like a mini-escape from the world and its troubles. Maybe that's the wonderful thing about dancing. It just does that to you.