The Pumpkin Dancer

My sister Dekker is a professional dancer in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She’s writing a memoir about her journey from the strip clubs in Portland Oregon to a prestigious contemporary dance company. She let me read this excerpt about meeting her husband for the first time at a friend's wedding.”He dominated the dance floor. It was like watching a pumpkin rolling down a hill: bouncing and weaving from side to side, seemingly out of control, always in danger of flying apart. A wonderful anarchy of thick limbs and arhythmic convulsions. It was the opposite of everything I had l trained so violently to control. It was terrifying and intoxicating. I wondered what such a reckless dancer would be like in bed and decided then and there to find out. Three drunken hours later I got my answer. Sweet Jesus.” Dekker is six feet tall and willow thin. Her husband is about five and half feet tall and almost as wide. The more he likes you, the more dangerous he is. His hugs can incapacitate. To be fair, his hugs did fix our Uncle Nesbit's lumbar displacement. He cries buckets during sad movies. I saw him beat up three guys by himself at a music festival. I still don't know why.