“Dance with me,” I said, dancing in a circle around my friend.
She stared at me. “But I’m not good at dancing.”
“Sure you are,” I replied. She raised her eyebrows. “Look, I’ll show you.” Before she could protest, I dragged her out onto the dance floor. “Put your hand here,” I said, as I gestured to my shoulder. “Is it okay if I put my hand near your waist?” She nodded. “Good. Now follow my lead,” I said as I began to maneuver us across the dance floor.
“See,” I told her later that night, after the dance was over, “I told you you could do it.”
“But the music wasn’t really meant for slow dancing,” she said, her shoulders shaking as she giggled.
“Well, it was meant to be danced to. If I hadn’t danced with you, would you have danced at all?”
She smiled sheepishly, like a child caught eating frosting out of the can. “No, but I’m glad I did.”