I live with a hip-wiggler. When we’re in an elevator, Fred shakes to the muzak. If we’re pushing a cart though the grocery store and B. B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone” comes through the speakers, Fred starts shimmying—and watching for my reaction. My role in this bit is to survey the scene in mock disapproval, one eyebrow raised, trying not to giggle. Click here to read more…