I love to dance. While I’ve taken the random dance classes here and there, most of my dancing days and nights are the kind of dancing you do at parties and night clubs, dancing with abandon for hours and hours. I used to dance in my room and around the house, and even made up dances to entertain my parents and their friends when I was little. Dancing makes me happy and brings me joy. I think it’s what kept me in relatively great shape when I was in my teens and twenties. If I could dance, I was happy.

I went to clubs most nights and danced. Usually as part of a pack, we’d descend the dance floor, mark our space, and dance. Together, alone, sometimes with strangers. It didn’t much matter as long as the music was good. Punk rock, glam rock, new wave…definitely a product of late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s! Late I learned some salsa dancing and took a stab at swing and spent lots of nights at the King King where they had live ska and big band music, dancing.

I find now that I imagine dancing to songs when I drive and will even cop to doing some stationary dancing in my seat while driving…I find it hard to keep my body still when I hear music. I dance around the house with Cole or around Cole sometimes and when I’m alone I groove around the kitchen or bedroom while I’m getting dressed or cleaning. I haven’t been club dancing in ages.

A group of us forty something moms did go to a trendy club a couple of years ago and were treated to a night of fun in the VIP room of the club where upon realizing that we were among the oldest people there, and that we were not there to meet boys, and that we didn’t so much care about what other people thought, danced and danced and danced until we were hot and a sweaty and utterly gleeful.

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