Driving down the road when an old party song came on the radio. I started moving to the beat and as I shook my head in time to the rhythm, an image filled me up. One by one, all my favorite dance partners, Toya and Donald, Dale and Lorenda, joined me on the dance floor. In real life, this group groove session would’ve made me immensely happy but instead I began to cry as I drove. You see, all of those great dancers are deceased so by all accounts, we won’t be dancing together anytime soon. Don’t you hate when that happens? When God has granted you three minutes of happiness and you can’t even last THAT long. Your cautious smile is caught on the way up by a frown. Aunt Ruth always said Baby, enjoy your happy times because they won’t last long. When I was six, I thought this was nothing but the sad ramblings of an old hag. ┬áNow that I’m 50 (damn near and old hag myself) I know not only that these were wise words, but that the slap-in-the-face truth of them intensifies and deepens the episodes of joy. So, join the party, go dance even if the song only lasts three minutes. Put on your shiniest platform shoes, frost the tips of your hair and cut loose on the dance floor. What have we got to lose? As long as the music is playing, joy must be somewhere in the room.  
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