On that unusually warm February evening, a fresh breeze wafted through the window, and no doubt the full moon’s alabaster face gazed down on lovers everywhere. One of my favorite singers, “Babbling” Brook Benton, crooned across the radio waves, and I thought … I’m a romantic!
Why? Women. But since no such creature shares my humble abode, and since the babbler rolled back the years to my youth, I couldn’t resist an overpowering urge to get up and dance. Living alone isn’t fun, but has its advantages. If you want to act a fool, you can, so I waltzed with a broom.
