Strictly Taken

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I met Dom first; he asked me to dance. OK, so it was team trials, and he didn’t have a choice. I was the beginner loitering on the side-lines, and he was the long-suffering pro: all very Strictly Ballroom.

Fast forward three months, and I’m dancing man.  Story of my bloody life; or at least my life since I grew past 5’10”. My partner and I are attempting to get our heads (and feet) round The Wing, a tricky little move. She’d turned up late, having overslept and jumped in a taxi. I’d vaguely registered the fact that Dom had also overslept, jumped in the same taxi, and arrived with her.

The Wing showing no sign of taking flight, we take a break.

‘Dom seems nice,’ I say.

‘Yeah.’

Something in her voice makes me stop and think, no mean feat at 9am on a Saturday.

‘Errr, are you and Dom…?’

She reddens a little.  ‘I s’pose… yeah.’


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