It started well. I tarted myself up, took a look in the mirror, and thought, yep, respectably do-able.
It was dark, and loud, and crowded. There was strobe, and everyone looks fantastic under a strobe. Even the most uncoordinated flapping looks sexy when you can't see half of it. I huddled with a group of other furtive professionals and we shook our jiggly bits until our joints fused up. Just as I secretly suspected that I was an ice-skating prodigy the first time I pushed off and faceplanted at an ice rink, I swung my arms and felt certain that I was unleashing an untapped fount of dancing SENSATION.
And then the Facebook tagging began the next morning.
Recreation:
My evening of magic and mystery was revealed to be 3 hours of this:
I hate you, Facebook.
I remember when Gavin chose that top for you!
ReplyDeleteKenneth is sitting next to me singing "I wanna take you to a jay ball." I'm glad that's what he heard...
Ahaha!
ReplyDeleteThree things.
1. Totally Do-able.
2. From that drawing, it seems to me you have a touch o' the case of Body Dismorphia
3. Because please see #1
Oh, I squarely blame the photographer. Even the stunning sequine-clad hostess looked like a lurching night-creature in those shots. Are you reading this, photo-man?! I am shaking a stern librarian finger at you, m'dear.
ReplyDelete