Dancing

So you thought we didn’t dance? Well, we do, like there’s no tomorrow. Kavli is practically the dancing equivalent to Las Vegas around here. Shoes are worn out faster here than a roll of the dice on your average table.

Just the other night, having put the children to bed and rented some videos for the babysitter, my wife and I went out for a little local jiving. We got into our favourite outfits, well, I greased my hair, and she put on some stockings for a change.

On our way over there we put on that tape too, that one with those Footprints in the Sand, and we sang along as a cool autumn breeze rushed all around our hot bodies. Ha, I like that, I like that image. I ain’t too sophisticated, you know it, so that’s all I’m gonna serve up tonight: cool autumnal air rushing in through the windows, over our young warm bodies. Pretty saucy for someone with a bit of an imagination.

So we danced, my wife and I, till I got too sweaty and thirsty and we had to sit down and relax for a while. And that’s nice too. Just sitting there at the back of the room with a cold beer and a hot wife by my side. There’s something that takes away my feeling of being so damn myself, you know, something that fuses me with that thick air of human breath, cigarette smoke and seediness. It’s a dancing experience. Sweaty, thirsty, randy, happy, young.

My wife kissed me then, on the cheek first, and later on the beer soaked lips. She gets carried away. I don’t blame her. The dark room wouldn’t want it any other way. Another beautiful image, if you ask me.