On Friday night, I met up with a friend with whom I had not had ANY contact with for the past 2 years, but when we meet it was like no time has passed at all. Peaches (unfortunate name from his high school days that just stuck) and I caught up on each others adventures on a sun kissed patio over some fine brews and good food.
On Friday night after Peaches and I said goodbye, I headed over to a West Coast Swing dance and hit the floor for 3 hours straight. I wondered, how is it that I can be a sexy inhibited dancing QUEEN here, but am all legs and arms and awkward as hell each time I do the Rumba? Same level of "sexy" required for both dances. Huuuum.
On Friday night, I left the dance hall tired and sweaty and instead of hopping on the subway, I took a detour and a midnight streetcar ride. The driver had a little transistor radio on and the music of Cole Porter hummed gently.
On Friday night I finally got home at 2am and realised that Friday night was long gone. Saturday was here.
4 comments:
Understand about the awkward. Salsa - no problem with the sexy. Hip Hop - look like an overeager grade 7 geek.
Cole Porter on a midnight street car ride...now that's TO!
Penguin Pal
I can ceilidh til my heart's content, but can I walk my laundry up the stairs from drying on the line in the backyard without breaking my face on the stairs? Can I hell. These are the wonders of the universal condition.
And here's to Cole Porter and late nights. I caught bagpipe music out my office window on a rain-cool breeze the other night. Nothing like it.
Strange are the ways of the world, indeed!
Miss Melville, welcome to my humble abode.
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