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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Romance/Love · #2008709
Write a scene with the object on your left. A dishtowel becomes the center of attention
The last dinner party of the season was over and a success.  The Latin ballroom dance team had good cause to celebrate.  Each of the five couples were all at various levels of proficiency had showed well at the last competition.  The couples each represented the five Latin dances:  Samba, Cha-cha, Rumba, Paso Doble, and Jive.  This group of friends was loud, boisterous, and athletic.  They enthusiastically shared in each others' wins or near wins. 

Arielle and Cal had met through this sport, and had only been married for less than year.  It was their turn to host the monthly get-together with their teammates, and it was a riotous and loud good time spent dancing, singing, and playing whatever board  or card game happened to be available.

Seeing the last of the dinner guests out, Arielle looked at the wreckage and said, “I’ll wash, you dry. And don’t complain, you are the one who won’t get a dishwasher.”
“I’m not complaining.  Good party, don’t you think?”
Arielle shrugged, “Other than David misbehaving with that dish towel, it was a fabulous.”
“Dave’s all right.  He knows when to stop.”
“Dana did not appreciate getting swatted with that thing.”
“He knows when to stop.  He didn’t mean any harm.”

Arielle nodded and half smiled.  She could not leave this mess until morning.  Since she was very young, it was her job to keep the kitchen neat and tidy.  She was never moved off that job because she did such a good job and her mom and dad appreciated that very much. However, Cal was feeling frisky.  Arielle shooed him away as she plunged her hands into the soapy water in the sink.  She called to Cal in the large room, “Can you find something decent on so that I have something to listen to while I clean up?”  The pulsing rhythms of Tetsujin from The Matrix Revolutions Soundtrack came on the sound system.  Arielle felt herself being carried by the primitive beat.

A Short and sharp yip escaped Arielle’s lips as she felt a swat on her derriere.  Cal presented an arrogant attitude as he put on his best Matador stance.  She looked at the blue and white checked dish towel with the Scandinavian tulip print and almost laughed that it was supposed to be his Matador’s cape.  “That better not be the towel Dave was using?”, she scolded.

Cal the Matador stayed in character and insistently teased her by using his  best dramatic stance, a faena with the dish towel, and a profoundly pompous stare, to challenge her to join the dance.

Paso Doble to the Matrix?  Really?  Her first thought was to ignore him and return to the sudsy water in the kitchen sink.  Instead, with a flick of her foot, and hands on her hips, Arielle squared off to begin the attack and move the Matador into the adjoining practice room where the music was now thundering.  She grabbed the dish towel and used it to her advantage to strike the dramatic poses that could now be done unfettered by physical restraints of the limited floor space and appliances of a kitchen. 

With the chest and head held high, and poses of arrogance and dignity fell in time with the rhythms of Tetsujin.  The pair had practiced the Huit, promenades, Flamenco Taps for several months.  Even in competitions, they were more practiced than alive.  This was the first time that either had the experience of being one with the music, and the spins, turns and poses of the dance took on a life of their own.

As the music thundered to an end, Arielle let her limp body be caught by Cal to signify the win going to the Matador.  Their chests were rising and falling from the exertion as the music ended.  The passion stirred by the paso doble cannot be denied. 

Arielle whispers, “You have any other good ideas?”
Cal nods.
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