Party Like it’s 1825

In the annals of things I’ve made my long-suffering husband Ben do, this latest one might take the cake: “Honey,” I said. “Thursday night we’re going to the Vet’s Club for a night of English country dancing, OK?” Ben immediately suggested that if we were going to try our hand at the intricate dance forms of the Regency Era, we really ought to be crocked out of our gourds on claret — or at least, he should be. Continue reading