Friday, 21 September 2012

XXVII. Rockabilly

I had a perfect Friday night.

It's nights like these that are helping me recover. 

An acquaintance of my friend has written a book for younger readers so we went to the launch of the book in an uber cute bookstore in the inner city. Set in refurbished old house, typical of the architectural style of our region. I thought my children would like the story, so I bought a copy and had the author sign it. I can tell them that the author is a young man that lives right in our maturing city. 

Also prominently displayed front and centre in the store was Naomi Wolf's new book, Vagina. I bought this also and am hungry to read it. 

Met two lovely people at the launch, one who told us about his month long meditation retreat in India and another who told us about the three years he had just spent living and working in a remote indigenous community. 

We then hopped on a bus, a rarity for me, to the city to attend a small art space/ laneway coffee shop opening where my partner in crime's friends were playing in celebration. A duet, clearly in love, he tall and thin with a young man's beard and she plentiful in flesh, an ample cleavage that anyone would want to use as a pillow, and quick witted. A live wire. 

I saw a woman there, beautiful, like Gwen Stefani. Dressed rockabilly style, immaculate. I didn't know if I wanted to be her, or be with her. But she stopped me in my tracks. Girl crush moment. 

After the gig we went out dancing, my friend, the duet musicians and me. First just next door to the laneway to a pub, where we didn't last. There was plenty of dancing but it was beyond trashy. I thought I might go in for that sort of thing, the band wearing their undies, a swearing lead singer, and beefy blokes rubbing up against you as you danced, but I recoiled pretty quickly and my tolerance wore thin.

So we went back to an old favourite spot and danced away. The lovely singer told me I was one of the cutest women she had ever seen, I found her choice of words funny, because I was ten years her senior and quite a lot taller, and yet she played the mother hen role with me. Maybe I've been emotionally stunted by my experiences and she saw a childish nature in me. Or maybe, I am cute. 

No comments:

Post a Comment