Ironing on a Friday Night - 1987

I may be old and I may be fat,
But I'm not dead, in spite of that.

I long to go out dancing with a Fred Astaire,
Underneath the moonlight, in the warm summer air.
To swirl around in a ballet of grace
To look up into a tender smiling face,
To see eyes looking into mine,
To me, it would be nothing short of divine.
To disco, to two-step, to jitterbug, to bop,
I've even half a mind that I'd do the bunny hop.
To waltz around the room in the dim yellow light,
To stay out late, just one night,
To wander home, arm in arm,
Snuggled together to keep each other warm,
A lingering kiss at the kitchen door,
It would feel so nice, we'd have one more,
Then one last gaze that would say so much,
A caress on the cheek, such a gentle touch,
And finally, "Good night", and "I'll see you soon",
And he'd stroll away 'neath the stars and the moon.

Oh, it's Friday night, and I'm ironing pants,
But how I'd much rather go out and dance!