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We broke all the rules tonight and put on the music and danced together for the first time in weeks, and against doctors orders, because we just couldn’t stand it anymore. The whole idea that my husband is finally dancing with me and has to watch me sit it out due to an injury is just plain ironic, because it was he who wouldn’t dream of dancing at all just a year ago forcing me onto the sidelines. It’s just been stressful for us both to look at my foot in a boot, immobile on the sidelines, rather than kicking up and flying about as it should be on a glide around the dance floor. So I clomped around in the boot, dancing sort of, because we wanted to.

My friend, Judy, just shook her head. She knows the whole story, and for her it’s about the fact that I get to dance at all. ‘You changed your husband! Everyone knows you can’t do that.’

In truth I was afraid he was developing a new love, apart from dancing, because he’s taking scuba lessons twice a week while we wait for my ankle to heal. And unlike some daredevils I am aware of I am not eager to jump from airplanes or delve beneath the sea, and so maybe he’ll find cooler things to do without me, leaving dancing behind. But no, when I voice these concerns he assures me our dancing is not going anywhere but onto the dance floor. Miracle words coming from a man who said ‘no’ to kicking up heels for the first twenty-seven years of our marriage.

Indeed I can say that I inspired that change in him. That I take credit for.

But truly, he is the one who did it.

(for the short version of how I inspired my husband to finally dance with me see my post of 12/21/11)