Last night, I went to a blues concert. I didn't really know what I was going to watch but ended up happily surprised I was really enjoying it. It was an homage to Dinah Washington, but I admit I had no clue who that was... and the songs were from the 40s and 50s. All very bluesy, very jazzy, very sexy. And most of the stories behind the songs where, of course, about love. The woman who waits for the phone to ring. The one who wonders if the guy is going to decide if they are together, or not. The other who wants her man to decide between her and getting drunk with the boys. The woman who loves a man she really isn't supposed to love. Sounds familiar?
How many times have I called my best friend to say oh my god, I have to tell you what happened last night. I met this guy and we hit off and he took my number and I'm sure he's gonna call don't you think he's going to call? Or she calls me to tell me that last night, she saw her ex, and she knows she shouldn't have but they ended up going back to his place and now she doesn't know where they're at. Oh the drama. So much fun.
Last night I met a boy and it was love at first sight. Last night he said I love you. Last night we had a fight. Last night he broke up with me. Last night I saw my ex for the first time.
Last night I was very tipsy. And I openly talked (and at one point, shouted) about my sex life with the Rats --and it's not entirely impossible that the other twelve people who were in the bar all got a very detailed report about it too.
Last night, I kissed a boy and he fell. Literally, fell, in the middle of the street, as we were kissing, with about three dozen people watching in astonishment. I have that effect on boys sometimes.
Last night, I was with four couples. And it only felt weird for a second, when I realized I was the odd one out. But then I also realized that I didn't care at all. I felt genuinely happy for them and genuinely happy for myself. They have each other. I have my stories. For now.
How many times have I called my best friend to say oh my god, I have to tell you what happened last night. I met this guy and we hit off and he took my number and I'm sure he's gonna call don't you think he's going to call? Or she calls me to tell me that last night, she saw her ex, and she knows she shouldn't have but they ended up going back to his place and now she doesn't know where they're at. Oh the drama. So much fun.
Last night I met a boy and it was love at first sight. Last night he said I love you. Last night we had a fight. Last night he broke up with me. Last night I saw my ex for the first time.
Last night I was very tipsy. And I openly talked (and at one point, shouted) about my sex life with the Rats --and it's not entirely impossible that the other twelve people who were in the bar all got a very detailed report about it too.
Last night, I kissed a boy and he fell. Literally, fell, in the middle of the street, as we were kissing, with about three dozen people watching in astonishment. I have that effect on boys sometimes.
Last night, I was with four couples. And it only felt weird for a second, when I realized I was the odd one out. But then I also realized that I didn't care at all. I felt genuinely happy for them and genuinely happy for myself. They have each other. I have my stories. For now.
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