Written for the 30-day creative writing challenge hosted by Nicky and Mike of We Work For Cheese. Today's prompt is They played my song.
The night they played my song! Or better yet, the night I embarrassed myself by turning into Disco Duck. We were at a friend's wedding reception. You know the fancy kind at the country club with an open bar and a dance floor...need I say more? I do? OK, the kind where the bride's father just smiles and empties his wallet, and then when asked about the reception, just turns his pockets inside out. Yeah, that kind.
We knew a small handful of people there, but with the open bar, were enjoying ourselves. Finally, I got hubby to join me on the dance floor. I don't remember what was playing at first. It didn't matter. It was a chance to dance, and, social occasions being few and far between, I liked to take full advantage.
I expect the first few dances were the slow kind were you just kind of hug around in a circle on the dance floor, trying not to step on each others' feet.
And then, all of a sudden as if by magic, or as if they could read my mind...wait for it...
Stayin' Alive from Saturday Night Fever. At the first note there was instant recognition, my eyes lit up, I grinned, and my feet took on a life of their own. Everyone else disappeared. It was just me and the music. I no longer cared what anyone thought, or how ridiculous I must look. I had to dance. I had the moves. I was in the groove.
Sadly, the night was nearly at it's end, and the party was winding down. I remember thinking it was cruel to play that at the end of the evening when I was just getting started.
As we made our way to the car, my feet, that were happily ready to dance the night away, now without the pull of the music, were sore and aching. So much for Disco Duck.
We made some good memories, and I still love to dance when I get the chance.
This is what you get when I write at 1:30 a.m.