I don’t know if this has ever happened to you, but if it hasn’t, let me tell you it’s amazing just how tightly conjoined you can get during a Pivot if you’re wearing adventurous clothing, as you can tell from my description that we were. Let me tell you also, with one mother looking at us from one side of the dance floor as we were trying to unbind ourselves, and the other mother watching from the opposite side, the fumbling of fingers must have looked…. odd. Suspicious, even; though we dancers didn’t think of that. We just couldn’t move anything except our fingers in the zero space between us, as all the other dancers cleared the floor and the hall fell eerily silent, just the two of us left, slap bang in the middle.
Pivoting us back to her seat conjoined was out of the question. A three legged race is bad enough, but you just can’t do a four legged race under those conditions - especially one with the demanding requirements of the Pivot. It's one thing to have navels as close together as possible as a consensual act on a glassy-surfaced dance floor. It's quite another when consent has been withdrawn by a Greater Power with a puckish sense of humour and nothing better to do on a Saturday night.
It would no doubt have been a strange thing for two mothers to take in. Poor Lorraine, my fair-skinned honey blond lovergirl, was blushing pinker than the dress she often wore in summer; the one that was my favourite. And that little cotton dress that swished like palm fronds when we did the Mexican Hat Dance on hot summer nights was very, very pink.
At last we were separated after what seemed an eternity of interference, one which might have been an interesting experience under other circumstances but not this time round, and definitely not with mothers, and the dress was then carefully inspected for prong damage. There was none. No prong damage of any description.
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