Between me and my swing dance partner, the day after we both discovered West Coast Swing together (a sweet, sweet birthday present).

Me: "Dude. One could totally dance west coast to Ace of Base."

Him: "Ace of Base? You ARE old. Wait, are you texting me on a Friday night, when you know I'm with friends skiing, to tell me that?"

Me: "Can't help it if you're a kid. Like you don't enjoy telling your friends you're getting texts from the girl you held in your arms most of the evening yesterday."

Him: "I can't believe I actually missed you."

Me: "Good night, my dear. Enjoy some mulled wine for me."

Totally worth my money.

In all seriousness, I should be writing a deep, emotional text about blues dancing. I took a fifteen minutes class in the little room above my favorite dance club and that's all I needed to fall in love.

With blues dancing, that is, not my partner.

Although he does have amazingly soft hands and a swell sense of rhythm.

(Yes, my life revolves around research and dancing. I could imagine much worse even if I can understand that it bores you to tears.)

Or I could write about the responsibility of being taken, together with a good friend of mine, as roles models by a much younger girl. But I'm so confused with my own thoughts about this topic that I am going to avoid it for now.

So all you're left with are these short conversation excerpts. Disclaimer: not always the same "Him".

Although right now I am suffering from the well known Sunday evening syndrome, the consequence of having exchanged about ten face to face sentences with a real person for the entire day, being sleep deprived, not having accomplished as much as I wanted, and the sun setting at a completely unreasonable hour.

There has been dancing, good dancing at that, despite the old creeper earlier described. Dancing was continued on Saturday, when I got to work on the new moves learned the night before, practice my leading, and the sweetest of all, leading a guy. I'm still a worthless lead but he is a terrible follow and I suspect we were looking like two drunken college kids — I was too busy telling him on which foot to be to pay attention to the mirrors, and that was probably a good thing. I don't think he'll ever let me do it again, but at least we had a good laugh and I'm pretty sure he'll stop complaining that I mess up my footwork when switching between lead and follow.