In days of yore – when giant beasts roamed the earth and even the trees had a hungry look – I was young, and inclined to go out dancing. A group of friends and I would prepare wonderful cocktails in our hipflasks, and dance away the night. One of the friends was a boy, very pretty in an anime way, who was short and slender with long hair. He pretty much always attracted attention before we did, and many a slightly-inebriated man had a moment of confusion about his life choices.
But I digress.
Last night, about 9pm, as I wondered how I’d be able to stay awake until bedtime, my sister-in-law called inviting CJ and I to go out on the town. We agreed with alacrity (and/or stoic endurance), changed out of our pyjamas, and went.
One of the side effects of dieting is feeling absolutely horrible about oneself physically (even as your clothes gradually grow less tight) so even after two Baileys I point-blank refused to dance in front of CJ (coz he’s the boy I like, and that’s just how it is). So we sent the boys outside and just us girls danced.
You’ll notice there are no photos. This night, like the nights of yore, is destined to fade into smoke-machine mist and the eerie creaking of the primeval forest.
Alternative title: Do something you really, really suck at.
. . . yay?
Tomorrow I’ll be posting photos and video of a bona fide magic trick – and giving you the secret (because a magician I’m not). Here’s a hint: It’s very, very easy, and looks cool.
We were out last night, too, but we were at 1927 having cocktails, not dancing.
W: I assume 1927 is some classy joint, on the basis that (a) I’ve never heard of it, and (b) that time travel machine I was selling only goes one way.