Okay, so this Bad Song Moment gets credited to my highly publicized infatuation with Disco Music. I know, I know, it’s not even really an art form, but more like a roadside accident that you can’t stop staring at—-I’m not arguing the finer points of liking disco music in this blog. Still, there’s something infectious about the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack or an ELO compilation. I can’t help it. And if Captain and Tennille or Andy Gibb or Donna Summer come on the radio, Sister, you’d better back up because the dancing and singing are about to commence in full force.
So, when my youngest daughter ran stone naked into my bedroom after bath time the other night, turned around to flash her derriere in my direction, and in an attempt to shake it like a Polaroid picture, instead wiggled her elbows where her bottom should have been moving, and sang "shake your bootie, shake your bootie!" at the top of her lungs, I know that unlike the Apple Bottom Jeans situation, I must take credit for this one. It’s all my fault. But I think that I’ll blame it on KC and the Sunshine Band so as not to impact my standings in the Perfect Mommy Title for 2008.
And in another weird moment...the other day I was at the book store near my workplace and I ran into Jackie Collins, the author. Literally ran into her. As in almost knocked her over. We came around an aisle at the same moment, and I knew who she was instantly, big sunglasses not withstanding (where exactly do you purchase sunglasses the size of dinner plates? And someone please explain why we are wearing them INSIDE of the building.)
In keeping with her incognito sunglasses disguise, behind her was a man wearing a hot pink Izod, white pants, and one of those little tennis sweaters tied around his neck (remember it’s June in Alabama—you could bake food in my car right now—I assure you that the last fashion statement I’m going to be making this week is a SWEATER). Clearly, if I want to blend in the book store in central Alabama I’m going to bring along my very flamboyant assistant dressed like a character in a Caddyshack remake.
The Husband asked me (tongue in cheek) if I got her autograph. I laughed and said that while Hollywood Wives was quite the summer reading material, I wasn't sure about having it autographed in the library of the parsonage. We've already had lightning strike the house once; let's not tempt fate.
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