Death Of A Secret Salsa Dancer

She, the natural born dancer. I, who can’t dance to save my life. She, won’t dance without me. I feel so guilty depriving her of this pleasure. Think I will surprise her by secretly attending salsa classes thinking of transforming myself into this fantastic dancer. Sweep her off her feet. No sweat. But trying desperately too to struggle through last year’s head injury which makes every movement an agony/ Even a simple 1 2 3 is not as easy as A B C My shirt is see through with sweat & effort. Perspiration runs down my arm onto my partner’s wrist. I drip to the beat ...beads of sound. I can see the Yuck! in her eyes. I retire in acute embarrassment. Guess my dancing days are done & only in my dreams am I a secret Salsa dancer. Even in my own kitchen (I’m a wallflower) as my wife salsas with my daughter The room all music & laughter.