Meet Joe…

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Our hostess, Rosie, greets me, ‘Have you met Joe?  You must meet Joe!  He does ballroom dancing too.  I’ve told him all about you.’

‘Oh!  Right.’

But she’s already moved on to the next group, and Joe is nowhere to be seen.  I turn back to my neighbour and we continue chatting.

An hour later, I’m standing in the queue for the coat check.  Behind me is a group of guys, university friends judging by their conversation, laughing and joking with each other.  The corridor forces them into single file.  I half-turn and find myself face to face with… Joe.  I knew it’s him because some years before I had had the exact same conversation with Rosie, about how I must meet her son’s ballroom-dancing housemate; after which I had looked him up on Facebook and thought, shame he’s two hundred miles away.

‘Hi!’  He smiles.

‘Hi!  You know Will from uni, right?’

‘Yeah, we lived together.  I’m Joe.  Are – err – ?’

I hold out my hand and introduce myself.  He laughs and shakes it. ‘You’re the dancer!  Will’s mum told me we had to meet!’

I beam.  This is worth the wait.


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