And so we dance on

And so the dance continues, like two turkeys making out in the yard, he wobbling his wattle while I shake my tail feathers. Dances portraying tales of youthful ardour and lust, played out by a couple of middle aged hoofers stomping around the dance floor in their weekly attempt to rekindle a spark to a fire that is in grave danger of being doused.
We are still the oldest and wobbliest couple on the floor, Guido and Stephanie patience personified in their efforts to get us to glide rather than shuffle. But still we return, I for Guido’s firm grip, and he for Stephanie’s flirty manner. Laughing at his weak jokes and listening intently to all he has to stay, warning bells ring out loud to a spouse when ladies like Stephanie are in town. Warning bells that are soon drowned out by the soft whispered Latin instruction from Guido; like a Mediterranean Barry White, his tone like honey drizzled on my eardrum.
To date we have perfected the Paso – Ha! And moved onto the Jive. Lots of bouncing around kicking and flicking with the odd spin and throw. The knees of the forty year old professional footballer in waiting, a little short on spring and bounce, the creaking audible to all on the floor. Of course I am full of spring and bounce, it would take a Kevlar bra to keep these knockers under control, Guido particularly keen for me to practice my alternate flick kicks, while throwing the opposite arm back in turn.
On repatriation with husband we attempted the same manoeuvre to a faster beat, my husband struggling to keep the tempo felled a neighbouring dancer with his flying arm, the unfortunate lady falling to the floor blood pouring from her nose. Guido stopping the music as the stricken dance duo were led from the room for medical attention. Mortified by my husband’s inability to carry a tune, I let fly. Why did he always have to ruin anything I enjoyed doing? Why must he have such ungainly arms? What the hell was he doing with Stephanie in the pasodoble? Guido intervened, waving on the caretaker to mop the blood from the floor, and restarting the music for another attempt at the Jive. Husband and I were separated, he with the vivacious Stephanie I with the understanding Guido. Safely returned to the Latin Octopus, I hastily apologised for me husband’s behaviour, he obviously needed wing mirrors while negotiating the dance steps, he was a footballer not a dancer and was the same around the house. Guido suddenly emboldened with Latin thrust, informed me that he and Stephanie sensed that there were problems at home through the way we danced, the music reveals all, the dance cannot lie. Stephanie held classes on another night if I were interested, teaching the magic of the pole and the lure of the lap. Guido himself was happy to provide further instruction on a “ménage a trios” basis He and Stephanie could do alternate weeks if necessary. Stephanie and he had embraced the idea of an open marriage and were currently involved in something called “The lifestyle” which involved sexual relations in a hall of some sort in front of an audience to swing music? Or at least that’s how it sounded. I explained to Guido that while husband and I may be experiencing some difficulties, it was not something that would be solved by some group community sex project; we may be going through a rocky patch, but it was something that could easily be sorted out with a little more understanding from both sides, a move from the jive to the salsa and a few popped footballs.
Guido handed me back to husband, who full of the joys of the Jive informed me that, blood injuries are quite a common occurrence during the jive and that Stephanie had invited us both around to join her and Guido for an evening in the hot tub, apparently its great for creaky knees and could bring a whole load of bounce and drive back to our dance. With the memory of Guido’s invitation still fresh in my ear, and the vision of what Guido, Stephanie et al, may get up to in their hot tub clear in my mind. I grabbed husband with renewed vigour and verve, jiving his ass off for the rest of the session; a sensational display of dancing that sent a clear message to those who could read it, that there was still a little life left in this relationship for these champions of monogamy,