My new sweetie likes to dance. No, let me rephrase that. He LOVES to dance. Seriously. How in the hell he ended up with someone like me is truly one of life's mysteries.
It's not that I have a problem with dancing. I don't. I'm just not a dancer. Never have been. At least not on a dance floor. I have no problem grooving to the beat of whatever it is that's playing as long as it's behind the comfort of the table I'm sitting at. A dance floor leaves you so.............exposed.
Tom, on the other hand, has no problem exposing himself (come on, you know you want to laugh). The pure joy he gets from such a simple thing is evident. He calls it primeval.
I know he hates the fact that I don't share this wonderful passion of his. I know he thinks that eventually he'll talk me into stepping out from behind the safety of my table to dip and twirl with him on the dance floor for all to see. He's really going to be disappointed. Sorry, honey.
That's why you always need back up. In any given situation, there needs to be a plan to fall back on when emergencies arise. In this case, my back up plan is to have other prey standing close enough so that when the hunter becomes antsy and starts stalking me, I can throw them out as bait and be done with it. How's that for friendship?
Hey, at least it kept me at my table.
0 comments:
Post a Comment