STNP.

Our upstairs neighbors dance. Like swing dance. And not just at a studio. But in their apartment. Maybe in the grocery store.

And they let us know, via invite, that they were having a surprise 40th party for one of the guys, and that we shouldn't tell Darby, and that there would be barbecue, and dancing and general ruckus/merriment.

Well, those guys are okay, but they ain't no Opryland. And we knew sitting in our living room listening to Count Basie go off and clogs hitting the floor/ceiling wasn't going to work so we became refugees and went to Andi and Tony's house in Jamaica Plain and had a good old fashioned slumber party.

Not too old for that, we aren't, yet.