So this woman who does my facials gave me a card advertising The Early Night Club which sounds so good: I already have two mothers from Owain's class maybe interested in going. It's basically a dance party in the basement of a tapas restaurant. How good does that sound? Sangria, moving around, lulled into a hypnotic state . . . I miss dancing so much.
I was at a nightclub in DC one hot summer night when I was 24 and my date at the time pointed out that I was not going to go to nightclubs for the rest of my life. Well, being a hardcore nightclub attendee (Cabaret Metro in the late 80's in Chicago - the CBGBs of the John Hughes set) back in the day, I was furious at him. OF COURSE I would be going to nightclubs for the rest of my life. That was 1991. Well, seventeen years later, that guy was right. I only get to dance at weddings and dance parties with my son in my kitchen and damn, it's not good. I want to move around, get my heartrate up, lose myself dancing around. So this club is £5 (cheaper than therapy) and promises to play dance music from, like, 7:30 until midnight on a Thursday night. Like my old jazz teacher Doug Yeuell used to say, you have to dance to feed your soul. So I am calling the babysitter.