The Secret World of a Closet Dancer

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “No Apologies.”

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Dancing, that’s my down and dirty secret.  When I’m on my own, particularly when I’m watching Strictly Come Dancing on television, then I dance like there’s no tomorrow.

I don’t do it when I go out, even if my favourite music is on.  I might twitch my hips if I’m quite sure that no-one is watching, but I keep in mind that I really do care if I make a fool of myself.  There’s something about older people dancing that is faintly repulsive.

Once in a very blue moon I will turn it on.  Once, back in Nepal when we stopped for lunch at a restaurant, far from the poor folk we were working for, I danced with a boy of sixteen.  They had a disco going and he asked me to join him.  Not a sedate dance, I soon found out, he wanted to go for it.  So I did – and he followed my steps.  It got better and better and when the first dance finished and we started again, the audience parted – you know, the way they do in Hollywood films, and we had the floor to ourselves.  I called it a day at the end of that.  Quit while you’re winning!

Before our group departed, I saw the boy again.  He was with friends.  We nodded politely.  It’s nice to know that others have a secret side.

I’m a polite person on the face of it:  butter wouldn’t melt…

If you would like to know me better… Just ask me to dance!

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