For weeks, months even, whenever we went walking, whether it was through the kitchen or around the neighborhood, we would practice our first dance. We danced like nobody's looking. We danced in the rain. We danced like spastics, like Elaine on "Seinfeld." We danced nice, close, cheek to cheek.
Then, when the wedding reception occurred, the 10-foot by 10-foot dance floor got covered up by the punch table. No problem. We had visiting to do. We moved from table to table around the reception hall, trying to greet everyone, give them a smile and a hug, thank them for being there to support us on our big day.
Time flew. The music disappeared into the din of conversation. We cut the cake. We played a trivia game. We chatted. We wished we had more time to spend with each of our guests, but it was just not possible. The clock raced. We breathed deep and tried to slow it down, giving smiles and hugs all around.
Soon it was time to walk through a gantlet of guests showering us with parchment butterflies. We hopped in the Prius with the 91011 license plate and sped away from Athena Christian Church, friend Larry chasing us in his Jeep honking all the way, a one-man escort giving us a proper send-off. We saved the first dance for later. We promised ourselves to dance a first dance every day for the rest of our lives, together, forever.