I'm a terrible dancer, lacking both experience and rhythm. I will, on occasion, dance, but prefer to stick to steps choreographed by booze.
My wife, however, comes from a family of musical theater performers. Her father danced for a living, so she and her sisters grew up singing and dancing in local shows. Hank, bizarrely, is as comfortable dancing in front of a crowd as she is resolving a complex technical issue at work. This seemingly impossible duality allows me to both get feedback on some algorithm enhancement I made at work as well as just marveling at watching her dance in the kitchen.
She was grooving to a tune this evening, shaking her hips and generally looking like someone for whom dancing is an outlet rather than a hurdle. I watched appreciatively.
"If you knew how much I enjoyed that, you'd do it a lot more," I suggested.
She smiled warmly and knowingly back at me, caressing my cheek with her hand.
"No, I probably wouldn't," she said sweetly.
That got as big a smile from me as the dancing.