Your husband and you had gotten into an argument earlier in the day, of which he had been trying to apologize for. Very dramatically. All. Day.

This time, he had turned on the record player and pulled you towards him, both hands on your waist. “Ohh, I’m never gonna dance again.” He wore a sly smirk, “Guilty feet have got no rhythm.” His face inched towards yours. “I’m sorry, you know.”