A burly man in an orange T-shirt that says “#1 Dad” grabs my girlfriend and drags her toward the dance floor. His feet clack — he has taps on his shoes — and Ralph Hayden and the Barbershop Grass are filling the Floyd Country Store with a lilting two-step. I have no choice but to smile as my girlfriend is twirled like a top. Funny thing is, I mean it.
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