Quote:
Originally Posted by Margaret Pilkington
What did...? the dancing or the strudel?
I can't dance......don't ask me........except.......awwww. I danced with my dad at my Prize giving night....when I qualified as a Nurse. I asked my dad to come with me, as himself was working on nights and couldn't get the night off.
Once the prizes had been given out, there was a dance and a buffet.
Now my dad couldn't dance....but he took me onto the floor and we shuffled around.
He whispered in my ear how proud he was of my achievments. He stood on my new suede shoes with his TUF shoes.......the black mark never came out. I was a little bit irritated at the time.
Now when I hear To Dance with My Father Again it brings it all back. I get a lump in my throat the size of the rock of Gibraltar. After he died I used to take those shoes out and look at where his foot had left a mark.......isn't it strange what little things like that can mean?
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It's always the little things that mean the most Margaret not the big planned gestures... I have never danced with my dad so you are luckier than me, I may still be in time though...
My lone dancing is more akin to 1960's style -think the sillouettes at the beginning of James Bond films!!! The Strudel was pretty good! Dancing less so probably
Off now to prepare some wild mushroom sauce for Tagliatelle (sorry for the foreign word!) have son's veggie girlfriend coming for dinner!! Have invested in a Seitan burger too whatever that is... to be followed by Strudel and ice-cream - sucks to the diet...