Oklay, I know I said I would talk about the book fest and be all, like, professional, but I'm feeling a bit nostalgic tonight. On the radio while I was driving home from dinner I heard the song You're the Meaning in My Life by Chicago. Probably the most drippy song ever written, but it was the soundtrack to my very first slow dance. Sixth grade, a humid gym strung with crape paper, the whole bit. I had a pink taffeta dress with big, pouffy sleeves. His name was Erik something, he was tall and very skinny with sort of fluffy blond hair. Jeez, now that I think about it we must have looked like the dance scene in Napoleon Dynamite! Dorks in luv.
See, I don't remember his last name, or really much about him, except the fact that his locker was near mine and I used to hang out there all the time hoping he would walk by and notice me (a dating staple of mine throughout high school). But I DO remember how I felt at that dance, all nervous and tingly and giggly and scared and foolish. Hey, I still feel that way on first dates--though hopefully my wardrobe choices have improved! Maybe that's why I love writing romances so much. I want to create that nervous, giddy, frightened, can't wait to see what happens next, he'd better kiss me or I'll just die feeling, over and over--but have it happen to people other than me.
So, to all my poor characters I put through the first date, first sex ringer, to all of you out there reading this, and to Erik whatever your name is, have a slow dance for me tonight. I think I'm just going to finish watching my DVD (Stage Beauty, because, despite the eye liner, Billy Crudup is kinda hot!) and forget about the fact that tomorrow is Monday and it is back to work for me.