“How are your babies?” I asked, to him with the little girls.
“Nell,” he sighed and looked at me, “I swear that every night she looks at me and asks, ‘Can we have a dance party?’…So we do…every night’.”
I laughed too.
Because I don’t ask anymore. I’m too old.
I just decide.
Dance party. Every night. I’m an adult and I don’t need your permission to turn on music and let loose.
Dance party of one.
Living room.
Let’s go.
