“When you come out here, we’ll go to Dance Church together,” my daughter told me.
“Church?” I asked, thinking I misheard her. Jeanie was walking her dog, and our cell connection was spotty. Church? Organized religion was not something either of us went in for.
“No, Mom, it’s not a religious thing. It’s a big, public dance class. Dance Church is just the name. People come together, there’s an instructor, and everyone follows the moves and gets sweaty. It’s fun.”