So I was telling E the other day that I don’t know how it is that I have partnered with men who don’t dance for so long when I love to dance about as much as anything in the world. I grew up dancing on my dad’s toes and dancing with my brothers and sister all the time. My sister and I choreographed dance moves to Three Dog Night and the Monkeys, and to this day my family does not have a bat mitzvah or wedding or event that is not all about the dance floor. So last night at Chickie Wah Wah when T started to get down to Bonearama, I just had to smile and I thought of E, who said she doesn’t know hardly any men in her life who don’t dance.
While we were dancing fools, I had this vague thought that we might all be fools, T having spent all that money and time to do his house, me who is spending all my money and time to do my house, all of us here in New Orleans, because don’t we remember how tenuous all of this is? The thought entered my mind kind of free floating across a myriad of other notions and it just made me dance harder.