It happened on a bright morning, early in September, some years ago as I came out the front door of my home on my way to work. As I headed for my car, I saw her, out there in the middle of the road. Dancing. My neighbor. A mother. A wife. Otherwise, quite mature. Nevertheless, dancing in her pajamas and robe, and wearing her giant furry-dog bedroom slippers. Sipping on coffee, dancing. Curlers in her hair. And all alone, to the tune of some music only she could hear, my neighbor was dancing!
I stopped dead in my tracks. Staring. She saw me and laughed, and giggled and danced some more.And then, by way of an explanation, she called out to me: “I have four children, and this morning, my youngest just went off to her first day of school. I’M FREEEEE!” And she kept on dancing!
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