Hustle and glow
Hustle and glow
Posted by linda_notonfb - Tagged , , , , , , , ,
I’ve been melancholy all week, a combination of looming holidays, work deadlines and a medical emergency my friend C. is experiencing with her beloved youngest daughter. I take a brisk walk in the abundant sunshine that bathes my desert town and head straight to yoga class where I remind myself between ohms that even in the chaos, I am one lucky woman. I actually look forward to the holidays, but they come with a subtle reminder of losses during a time when the rest of the world seems unburdened and all decked out in happy, shiny baubles. Sometimes I get all caught up in what isn’t–and forget to look at what is.

So when I talk to my dear peep JP this week (he’s doing very well post-surgery, btw) and he says, “Stop your pity party,” off we go to a local Dancing with the Stars contest–and the spell is broken. So vamoosed is my pity party that last night after dinner with two lovely ladies, J. Go and the young and spirited Dancing Queen, who said, “Let’s keep going,” we made our way to a place with live music and straight men and–DANCED! Until Midnight!

“Dancing” is a woman about two decades younger than the luminous J. Go and I. She’s taught folks to dance on cruise ships and in her own studio. When I say she’s perpetual motion on the dance floor, I mean with a sexy swivel and sway and dip and twirl that’s akin to nothing I’ve ever seen in real life. J. Go says she’s a cross between a Tasmanian devil and a butterfly, luring anyone onto the dance floor with an infectious grin that says, “Relax, I’ve got this,” all before they know what hit ’em.

Adding to the joie de vivre of it all, Dancing loves to swipe a little glitter on her eyelids before going out for the evening. So before we left the restaurant, she made J. Go and me close our eyes, where she promptly glittered our eyelids within an inch of their lives. J. Go says, “I don’t have the heart to tell her that women over 50 don’t need anything shiny drawing attention to their eyelids.”

I think that glitter worked as men seemed to look at us in a different way (they probably thought we escaped from some scrapbooking convention where the bedazzling workshop went awry). So when Dancing got the party started, I’m happy to say my new suede stilettos stood the test, and I held on and held my own with the men I danced with who all knew how to shake it, shake it baby.

And only in this town, on a night out with friends, can you meet a guy in a bar who spent three seasons on the Sopranos (until his character took a bullet in the head from that weasel Pauly), and he asks, “Do you girls have husbands?” And I lean in close and say, “There are NO fucking husbands here,” and he is not immediately frightened. In a husky voice exactly like you’d expect from a street tough from Jersey, he just leans back and says, “Hey, you girls are gorgeous,” but not in that sleazy way that some men say it. In a nice, decent guy kind of way that makes me think, “A little glitter never hurt anybody.”

Click to read the next post: “Socially Unconscious”
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