There was a hot time in old town last weekend. My development – a.k.a. active senior community – had a Margaritaville dance. Our social hall was decorated to resemble the Keys and margaritas were handed to each of us as we entered – which helped loosen-up what normally is a very reserved, prim and proper group.
The DJ played just enough slow music to keep Hubby up and moving for half the evening. Our social director planned contests for the ladies, but, alas, not the wet t-shirt ones that Key West is known for. Not even the free booze was enough to tempt the gals of this community to partake in that kind of contest. Instead, we had a Best Key West Outfit contest. Let me tell you, during the parade around the room some of these women proved they still could do a wicked shimmy. I watched one with envy. If I shook my upper torso as she did, Hubby would have had to rush me to the nearest chiropractor.
The nicest entertainment of the evening for me – and others who admitted it – was watching evidence that new love – be it at 16 or 66 – is always a joy to view. Two neighbors, who had become engaged that evening, had many eyes on them while they snuggled during a romantic slow dance. I asked Hubby why we didn’t dance that way anymore. He studied the couple and then whispered to me, “Because my hands don’t need to be warmed.”
I laughed and was relieved that he didn’t tell me that my rear was too wide for him to reach around, or that my pants were too tight for him to easily slide his hands into my back pockets.