Monday 14 Nov 2005
8:52am

We live just a couple miles away from a little country hall. In the spring the hall committee puts on a fling; in the fall, a windup; in the summer, a barbecue and horseshoe tournament. Attendance has been dwindling over the years, so that they barely manage to pay the costs of the entertainment they hire for these occasions. But they soldier on.

I had never been to one of these dances, so on Saturday night we went with another couple even though we’d have been just as happy, probably moreso, just to put our feet up on the coffee table and share some conversation and a few drinks. The hall is in very good condition, considering that it sits unused most of the time; it wasn’t dusty, but shiny clean. Even the bathrooms — the old-fashioned outhouse moved indoors — were spotless. In the one stall in the women’s restroom was a little corner shelf with a basin of water, a bar of soap, and next to it a paper-towel dispenser.

The music, though good (a one-man band), was so loud that I woke up the next morning with a sore throat from doing so much shouting across the table where we sat with our beer and highballs. We all complained about the volume but someone pointed out that even when the music stopped it was hard to hear each other above the din of other voices, and it was true.

It was two in the morning by the time we got home. Faye and Rick came in for one last drink, and after they left Scott and I did some more dancing in the privacy of our living room before going off to bed. We were both pretty tired the next day, not used to such late nights any more.