My husband and I danced a tango at our wedding. It fit us: feisty, fiery but still playful.
The snappy drama and coy humour of the dance still typify us. Nine years, two kids and one mortgage after that tango, we tangle. That we bicker doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. We do, and have since the night we met. And yet we spar, our default form of communication.
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