The Dance

We made our way through the white haired couples carouselling around the dance floor to the bar where Holly ordered scotch or whiskey, something brown and on the rocks. The bartender gave us the fifteen minute warning, you know, like you give your kids before you leave the park. I only had fifteen minutes. Panic. Indecision. "Holly, which one should I ask?" There were three white haired gentlemen at the bar. She raised an eyebrow and commanded, "The one in the hawiian shirt. Go on!" I tapped him on the shoulder and while I was in the the process of asking, he took my hand and lead me to the dance floor. He was Fred Astaire(when our dance was done a woman at the table next to us whispered over that I had picked the best dancer in the place)and I was Ginger(if Ginger had difficulty being lead). He told me the dance floor is the last place around where the man is still in charge(it was charming not misogynistic). The band played "Just a Gigalo". I noticed a man in a vest and cowboy boots, and I was glad I wasn't dancing with him. "Now when I let go, keep spinning until I pull you back in," he said, and I did. He reminded me of my uncle Hal, who drank brown drinks on the rocks, much like Holly, and showed me how to play liars dice as a kid. When the song was over he thanked me(he called me young lady), smiled, and went back to his seat. He..thanked..Me. What a wonderful world.