Transplanted Life
Thursday, May 19, 2005
My secret shame
There's a bunch of reasons I haven't been posting much lately. The combination of a Classic Westerns series at the Brattle and the Red Sox playing on the West Coast has eaten a lot of my after-work time this week, but more importantly, Jen's wedding is on Saturday, and that's kept me busy. We're doing whatever the female equivelent to a bachelor party is tonight - I think the Brits call it a "hen party", but that's really rather English, isn't it? Maybe a "doe party" to compare to a stag party, although that sounds dopey.

I'd like it noted that I'm doing this instead of seeing Star Wars tonight, because I'm a really good friend. I extracted a promise from Chet not to try and see the movie without me, but I'm not sure it was sincere.

Anyway, we did a bridal shower thing on Saturday. I guess it's kind of late, but she has a sister who wanted to come, and said sister was attending college in Chicago. I probably should have written something about it because, hey, new female-centric experience, but I wound up going out with Chet right after, then back to his place. And, hey, it wasn't that exciting. Everyone gets her clothes and we all act scandalized when someone gets her sexy underwear because, egads, Her Mother Is There!

The other way Jen's upcoming wedding has sucked up my time is, well... Dance lessons.

I know, I go to clubs all the time, but that's mostly standing in place, shaking one's ass, and occasionally leaning forward so that people are mesmerized enough by one's cleavage to overlook that one has no rhythm. Sure, it takes some balance to do that after a few drinks, but I've sort of coasted on my figure for a while. I avoided anything resembling slow-dancing at Wei's wedding, but I'm a bridesmaid this time, so there was no getting out of it, and I rather didn't want to embarass Jen or myself.

So I signed up for lessons. I haven't been writing about it, because it's kind of embarassing, being such a girly thing to do, and, hey, I can handle female, but girly is something else altogether. But, like they say, Ginger Rogers had to do everything Fred Astaire did, except in high heels and backwards, and I don't recall being so light on my feet in flats going forward.

Unfortunately, Chet has school stuff a lot of weeknights, so I wound up doing it with Telly. Not that I've got anything against Telly, but I imagine holding your sister close like that is kind of weird. That worked out OK, since there was a girl his age there taking lessons with her older (gay) brother, so we wound up switching off a lot. The request itself was kind of strange to him, though. He got that I don't have a lot of a whole bunch of male friends to do this with, but didn't see the need - Michelle wasn't any kind of champion dancer, but he'd never heard any complaints. Unless, he said, those rumors about how long she actually stuck around for prom were true...?

(If that's the kind of reputations Michelle had back in her hometown, I can imagine why she chose to move)

I wonder if the number of times I stepped on his feet before we met Hans and Gertie has helped him believe that I am not, in fact, his sister playing an elaborate ruse.

Nah! It ain't a shame... I've been meaning to learn how to dance for years - but I don't have the body you do, so why should I sweat it?

Don't forget to write all about the wedding for us.
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