It started out as the oh good, taking a break from the quasi-death march of fixin' to deliver a 94 page product catalog to the printer. A party to wish friends goodbye (goin' to Hawaii, the lucky buzzards!). Couldn't stop yawning on the way there. A little wine, a little cheese, a little 'we're gonna have a hula contest, here's a grass skirt' (my family sailed to Catalina each summer for a luau, so I knew what I was getting into). I challenged the men there to take off their shirts and do a belly roll, like my dad would do. No takers. Transition from wine to cosmopolitans. (I had a designated driver) Old war stories from back in the days of Harvard Systems Corp, before it became HSC Software, before it became MetaTools, before it became MetaCreations. And then, "Oh, M's a dancer. She does swing, too!" "Here we have two followers, and a leader (the designated driver, bless him) who's sidelined with a knee injury!" "Oh!" she pipes up, "I lead, too." So we swing-danced in the kitchen, first to reggae then to to the real stuff once our hostess changed the music. It's hazy here, but I musta mentioned something about seamed stockings. A little hunt among the pens near the telephone, finding a Sharpie, and our hostess gave me depression-era seamed stockings, since I can't buy them right now because of the war effort. Or something like that. That, and breaking my lei-of-fabric-flowers, and letting flowers drift one-by-one to the kitchen floor, carpeting the tile with beautiful gesture. It's all pretty blurry, but this morning I discovered that I've got faux stocking seams on my legs. It's one of those slow-to-get-going mornings, and though I can barely remember, each event that emerges in the fog makes me smile: A good time happened to me last night. I got the hula dance prize and stocking seams to prove it.
Now, back to the catalog death march
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