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Treat

I always used to love Saturdays, because Saturdays weretreat days. If I did all my homework, washed the dishes, took out the bins, vacuumed the floor and read to my grandmother for at least forty-five minutes my mother would give me one of her sweet smiles.

"Darling, what would you like for your treat?"

Obviously I couldn't just ask for whatever I wanted. There were strict boundaries that had to be abided by if I wanted that sweet smile to stay on my mother's face. Something from the bakery – not the posh one on the high street, the one down the end of the road next to the pub – and it had to be under a pound, anything more was too extravagant.

But it was that irresistible smell followed by greedy munching that still gives me nostalgic feelings today. After my mother left my father tried but it was not the same.

Nothing would ever be the same.

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Dance

"Would you like to dance?"

A slender hand appeared in my vision, poised to take my own.

My initial feeling was no, but I had been raised a polite child, so I took it.

"I don't know how to dance," I told my companion as I was pulled up out of my seat.

"Nobody knows how to dance," was his reply.

"Oh."

That was the end of all further conversation for a while. I was aware that social convention dictated I look at his face while we dance, but I didn't feel like it so I looked at other people's feet instead. It appeared he was wrong about people not knowing how to dance – the other people's feet moved in a synchronised precision that was impossible to copy. I stood on his foot not entirely by accident, and looked at his face. He didn't wince. I liked that.

"Why did you ask me to dance anyway?" I asked. "People don't usually."

There was a pause before he replied.

"It's tradition for best man and bridesmaid to dance together."

"I'm not a bridesmaid," I pointed out. "We're not even at a wedding. This is a charity barn dance for the Rehabilitated Donkey Charity."

"I didn't say I was answering your question," was his reply. "What brings you to the barn dance of the Rehabilitated Donkey Charity?"

"I kind of like donkeys."

"Fair enough."

We spun round very fast. No one else appeared to be doing this. I hoped no one was staring.

"So you say you like donkeys?"

"They're alright, I suppose."

"My uncle owns a donkey farm in wildest Pembrokeshire. I don’t suppose you'd like to visit the donkeys with me next Saturday?"

"I don't travel to Wales."

He nodded gravely. The song ended, and with it our dance.

[organicsoupclub-blog]

so i found this, and i'm doing it