Last night I met Vicky, Neil and Anouk for dinner.
On my way to Crazy Horse1 someone threw a water balloon out of a window and it nearly hit me. It landed next to my right leg.
I looked up at the sky and shook my fist! They were out there somewhere! It was probably the same person who hit the back of my head with a fork.
I thought I escaped embarrassment. But during dinner, Vicky said, “You should go salsa dancing.”
“I don’t salsa dance,” I said.
“Why not? They always need more men.”
“The last time salsa danced I kicked the toenail off my date.”
“Ouch!”
“I had to make a tourniquet out of a napkin for her bleeding toe,” I said.
“Right,” Vicky said. “I always forget that story!”
Salsa dancing confuses me because there’s too much stepping. One wrong move and bang! She loses a toenail.
If I tried again, I would make her wear steel-toed boots. Not very sexy, but safe.
1. Crazy Horse is an excellent steak house in Wellington. I had filet mignon. In New Zealand “filet” is pronounced “fill it.”
Jeff, unfortunately this comment is not to respond to your entry, but more to tell you that my heart is just a wee bit broken because you haven’t acknowledged me on Twitter yet.
Big, fat, alligator tears.
Seriously.
Crying over here in the U.S.
sorry! but you’re twittering, awesome!
Dude, yesterday at SummerDance swing dancing, this guy asked me to dance, actually criticized me for not following his pretzel correctly even though it was HIM who’d f’ed it up and he’d just learned to dance the hour before, then – THEN! He asked me about 5 times as I was leaving if I was going to be back next week. Nope!
Memories! Remember that’s how we first met?
jeffy,
you can kick my toenail off (again) anytime.
shannon
you say that now but when the time comes you’ll be wearing steel-toed boots!