I was scrolling through the Notes app on my white iPhone 6 whilst riding the N-Judah from my office to my home earlier this evening when I came across a recent hastily-jotted memo that made me silly-grin like a doofus.
As darkness began to settle over Cloverdale at Dan and Steve's retirement rave a couple weekends ago, their hired DJ started spinning his set (That's definitely the most accurate yet hip terminology for the things that disc jockeys do, right?) and almost immediately a dance party broke out in the grassy area at the center of their backyard. Instead of joining in I, spotting the newly-emptied hot tub across the way, seized the opportunity to soak in solitude for a few minutes while watching folks get down to the sublime and timeless vocals of Miley Cyrus, Usher and their Top 40 counterparts from a safe distance. I'd been kicking back for maybe a minute when I saw Sidney's best friend Rosie peel away from the crowd and strut toward me.
Rosie: What are you doing?
Me: I'm just taking a little break.
Rosie: You should come dance.
Me: I will.
Rosie: But right now.
Rosie: To be quite honest, it's not a dance party without you.
My heart swelled ten sizes then and I clambered out of the water, grabbed a towel and followed my new best friend Rosie out onto the dance grass.