Gemotions

David felt a flush creep up his neck as he read, in his father’s precise script: *Go skinny dipping.* His father, Arthur, the man who ironed his socks and clipped his toenails religiously. The thought of Arthur, naked and frolicking in a body of water, was…uncomfortable.

He reread the words. *Learn to dance the tango.* A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple. He imagined himself, with his notoriously stiff frame, attempting to navigate the intricate steps.

He looked around the familiar, quiet living room, where his father had spent countless hours reading the newspaper. The silence seemed to amplify the absurdity of it all. He balled up the paper, then immediately smoothed it out, smoothing out the tiny creases. He couldn't burn it, could he?