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.”
