Kindness Costs Nothing

Dancing queen makes man feel like a king

I have never asked a man for a dance. If I don’t have a partner, I take the floor solo rather than risk being shot down.

I have never turned down a man who asks for a dance. I’m always pleased to have a partner. Regardless, if a guy musters the guts to approach, he deserves nothing less than “I’d love to!”

I’ve been going dancing every Wednesday for the past month with a recently widowed friend. Gale, I am gratified to see, abides by the same principle.

Gale is lovely inside, outside, and upside down. For the last two weeks, Gale has been asked to dance several times by George, who, judging (face it: we all do) from his appearance, has little (read: ZERO) luck with the ladies.

George has no teeth. He is obese. He sports a sweat-stained grey T-shirt featuring an advertisement for a six-pack of Budweiser. His filthy brown pants are precariously belted below his belly. His crowning glory is a back-assward grungy beige baseball cap.

Gale, bless her kind heart, accepts George’s embrace as if his surname were Clooney.