Anglican Nightmares

We danced a dance that lasted for a segment, a figurative allotment, a grain through the hour glass, a moment of music. The Fred is a step that uses your hips, denounces your feet, pronounces the pelvis, emphasizes your crotch, beckons your buttocks, shuns your shins, segues your mid-drift, and mocks your mouth. We were up until bed time, twirling this Freddy night away as if high on a wizard's aphrodisiac. It was a cross between a graceful waltz and a frat boy belch, a cross between a somersault and an orgasm, a cross between a stroll around the park and a trip to the refrigerator, a cross between a gallop on horse back and a gallop poll. What a night of Fred, Fred, Fred!