“Last song,” announced the bandleader.
And that’s all the old man needed to hear.
Of course he was tired, of course his feet ached, he’d been dancing all night long. But no way he was sitting out the last dance at his only granddaughter’s wedding.
The old man slowly got up from the table, gently smoothed out the front of his vintage tuxedo. He then turned, extending his hand to his wife of nearly fifty years.
“May I?” he asked. He flashed that mischievous grin. The one she fell in love with so long ago.
How could she say no?
The Weekday One Hundred 