Lord, have mercy, it was a fun time last night.

Smacking boot heels on old wood floors.

Accordion, washboard, guitar, drums, bass…like an ol’ bayou Saturd’y night getdown.

‘Memberances of N’awlins, crawfish boils, jazz fests, New Year’s Eve on the Riverwalk, ESPN settin’ up for the national championship.

Louisiana hot sauce or, when that’s not available, habanero squeezin’s on the chicken sandwich at Beauregard’s, the ever resourceful Antonio givin’ us the extra onion rings.

Dance lessons a’fore hand – “just remember, it’s not the exact steps that counts, it’s keepin’ time with your partner that makes it zydeco!”

One, two, three four.  Five, six, step back.

My partner – my rational, logical engineering wife – dissecting the steps ’cause we already know how to keep time.  This ain’t work, honey, it’s the weekend!  😉

Sippin’ whiskey from a flask – Bushmills Black Bush.  A little Sprite for the missus.  A swig of ginger ale for her male.

My, oh my, does the zydeco bring out the bee-yout’uhful ladies?!

Like the cream o’ the crop, they were, a’dancin’ with their beaus or choosin’ more experienced partners to learn a new move or two to spice up their relationship on the dance floor and off.

I felt like someone wound my clock back, and we were back at the ol’ Chicken Shack down by the river, a jug of hooch bein’ passed back and forth while bodies spun ’round and ’round like the storm clouds that swept past over and over again.

Lightnin’ never strikes the same place twice unless the dance floor’s on fire, my grandpappy used to say.

Reckon he’s right.

Zydeco lessons at the Eagles Club tonight, folks.  Don’t miss it!

A nod to Jessica at Arby’s, the behind-the-scenes folks at Lowe Mill, and Yuri Ozaki, whose quiet happiness blesses us all – may your country find peace during this difficult recovery period.  Cat, we’ll fill up on Happy Tummy the next go-round.

Take a day off, then my wife and I are hittin’ the dance floor again, this time shufflin’ our feet to swing music.

No offense to you bowling fans but between drinkin’ beer at the bowling alley or hoppin’ on the dance floor with my wife, I’ll take the parquet.

Or is it butter?

One day, our dancing will be as smooth as such.