By Christy Hartman
I was the life of the party, back when life had parties. I danced on tables, tossed back my teased head—too-loud laughter mixing with vodka cocktails spilled on the floor. My signature move was The Flaming Sambuca. I became a fire-breathing dragon in a micro-skirt and wedged heels. A mistress of flirting without speaking. One curl of my finger lured them onto the dance floor. First hands, then mouths, connected with music and the freedom of being twenty-two. Now I’m forty-six, in sensible flats. Her tiny skirts are buried deep in my closet. I’d love to dance with her again.
Lovely. Relatable.
Great micro!
Every sentence evocative. Well done.
So symbolic. I share this desire! Loved this story!
Great story Christy!! I’m pretty sure all fortyplus-something’s all feel the same way.
Yeah. I was there!!
Wow, congratulations! As a Gen Xer — with a semi exciting past and a fairly sedate present — I love what you did here! Beautiful words.
Same here. Another dance would be amazing! Well done 🙂