I have found, quite possibly, the best type of non-boyfriend dance partner: my gay friend. At a local bar, with an empty dance floor, we opened the floor and grooved all night long. It served us both well, since neither of us wanted to dance alone, and I like to avoid the grasping, beer-slick hands (and more) of lonely grab-and-grinders. So we started off the dancing at A.'s 23rd birthday party, with her looking modelesque as always, and the rest of us all chic in black shirts and jeans. I envy those with summer birthdays; it seems like the possibilites are endless for activity. By the time mine rolls around, people are short on time, going stir-crazy, and booked for Holiday and New Year's parties. Ah, well, one day I'll spend my birthday in summer...across the equator.
So, another childhood friend has gone and gotten married. I remember when she and I tried on her mother's wedding dress (her mom helped us into it) and took pictures, automatically assuming the dignity of a soon-to-be-wed woman, heads held high, and yet still collapsing into giggles when the sleeves didn't fit her wrists.
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