Henry has learned how to dance. No, he has embraced it.

There’s a quick stamping move, a head sway, a double arm-flail and a twirl-on-the-spot-with-wild-rebel-yell. He starts up whenever he hears music, and mixes up the choreography when it feels right.

The worst part is that we do it too, to set him off. Our neighbour across the way belly-laughs when we forget to close the blinds. He doesn’t know that we’re in training.

Nervous, oh Michael Flatley Lord of the Dance? You should be.

*menacing stare*


Talk to me! I'll put the kettle on.

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