Break it Down

You guys, I am coming to you today from a place of confusion and fear. My world is turned upside-down. Black is white. Fuchsia is chartreuse. I think I may be knee-deep in a mid-life crisis with no way out. I think... I might be happy. 

A couple weeks ago I went to Sacco Carpet's 10th Anniversary party, and I--dare I say it? Thoroughly enjoyed myself.  

There were irks a-irkin' around a few corners, don't get me wrong. But they just didn't get me down. The good was outweighing the bad. The little angry voice that chirps up from behind my shoulder was out back smoking a cigarette, enjoying the sunset, and heaving out big puffs of "Meh--roll with it." 

In a nutshell, the space was beautiful, the crowd lively, the brand well-played. Oh, and there was dancing. 

It had barely struck 7 before a tall, lanky man named Pierce, swathed in structural SoHo duds, started busting out some honest to god moves. Alone. And with gusto. To be fair, he went into the endeavor with a semi-circle of ladies already watching, so, you know. That helps. But it’s not the point!

Pre-assembled cheer squad or not, his dancing was an uncanny reflection of my new-found exuberance. Life sure has a way with metaphors, doesn't it? 

Literally--and I don't know precisely why this is--when I saw Pierce dancing, it made me sing "splish splash I was taking a bath!" in my head, with a cheerful force previously unbeknownst to me. I almost called my therapist to tell her I've begun hearing voices in my head. Lyrics like that don't just pop up out of nowhere, you know? That's some demonic stuff.

Then Hillary Rodham Clinton of the architecture and design world started busting out some "hips-shaking-in-my-mom-jeans" moves, and the crowd ate it up. Just scarfed the whole scene down faster than they could do with all the hors d'oeuvres and mini cupcakes that were lingering about. 

Enjoy your holiday weekend! I know I will...

hugs and kisses,

Debbie