I should write this down while the glow of the memory is still on me.
Last night I tended bar at the symphony’s Big Band Fever, seeing as how the good doctor got called in to deliver babies. And before the show started, I poured a glass of our very good Chilean merlot for a gentleman with an interesting accent.
We fell into an easy conversation and I slipped into my British accent with ease (something I do when properly inebriated or around the right company). We parted ways when the ten-minute call came about, but after the first intermission and the mad rush of patrons were exhausted, he stopped by and asked me if he could have a dance.
I took his arm, and we went onto the dance floor just as the band struck up “Moonlight Serenade.” And he was a very good dancer