Yep. I love that song. I can't tell you how much I love that song! Apparently, so does one of my fellow apartment dwellers. I was taking my morning pretend-I-am-exercising-to-get-into-shape walks, and I could hear this song. It was playing loudly just around the corner. I eagerly stepped up my pace to see who was jamming to one of my favorite tunes. Keep in mind it was 6:30 in the morning. I rounded the corner and there she was.
Now I admit, I have packed on a few pounds in the past year or two. Ok, yeah, I packed on 40 pounds in the past year or two. (Hello, that's why I am pretending to exercise!) And I also know that there are people who have massive weight problems. It takes all kinds to make the world go 'round, right? This girl was a brunette, long beautiful hair, with sloe eyes, and a pouty, full mouth. It was full of, best I could tell, some sort of fast food breakfast buiscuit. She was roughly 5 feet tall, and 4 feet around. Her make-up had been applied with the best mortar trowel money could buy. And she was dancing like nobody was watching. I mean that girl was flat out moving.
I had never seen anyone make love to a sausage biscuit before, but I swear she was. And she was managing to make it part of her dance. She was, hands down, one of the most artful, passionate dancers I have ever seen. I stood there in slack-jawed amazement, with a heaping dose of envy thrown in for good measure. I love to dance, but I suck at it. This girl rocked. She finished her bisuit about halfway through the song, and moved on to using a truck as another prop in her dance. There was nobody outside that I could see, other than us. I kept thinking to myself that whatever this girl actually did for a living, she had missed her calling. She could make a fortunbe teaching strippers how to dance. She was seriously that good. And quite obviously, she was that confident. I could never break out and dance in public like that. Well, not sober anyway. There was this one time, at the bar...but anyway.
The song ended, and it was like she suddenly became aware of her surroundings. She saw me standing there, hero-worship glowing in my eyes. She flipped her hair behind her ear, in yet another artful move I could never pull off, looked me dead in the eye, and called me a pervert. She told me off for a good five minutes about sneaking around, watching her dance, (I did mention this was in the parking lot, right?)and laughing at the fat girl trying to dance. Well, so much for self-confidence. She ended her tirade by telling me if I didn't get the fuck away from her, she was going to call the cops. I walked away, still slack-jawed with amazement, but for an entirely different reason. I couldn't imagine having that kind of talent, and being ashamed by it. Or maybe she is just plain old nuts. Either way, she left a lasting impression.
And I admit it. In the privacy of my bedroom, with the door closed, and nobody watching, I try and try to dance the way she did. Minus the biscuit. And the truck. I never can manage to do it the way she did though. I haven't seen her around here since. Since she obviously has issues, I wouldn't approach her, even if I did. Prison orange is not in my color wheel. But I wanted to dedicate this to her, wherever she is. So, for the crazy fat girl, with the horrendous make-up, and the awesome dance moves, my favorite song. From me to you.
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