At least he's a sweet drunk

Last night I ran off for a spell after the girls went to bed to check out my friend's new home. She invited me over so we could spin around and polka in her living room, something that would have sent us crashing into walls and furniture in the old place. She even took me upstairs (UPSTAIRS!) to show me how you could walk straight around her bed, without hugging a single wall. Then she showed me the balcony in her bathroom and I stood there speechless for about five minuets, trying to figure out why anyone would do such a thing as put a balcony in a bathroom. We were both stumped.

Anyway, by the time I got home Mark had put away an entire bottle of wine and thought he should tell me about the new show he saw on TV: So You Think You Can Dance.

"It's like those other shows, but better. See, the judges are like on that Idol thing. Same formula. You've got your Simon, the compassionate judge."

"Isn't Simon supposed to be an asshole?"

"Yeah, but he's their Simon."

"In what way?"

"He's British."


"And then there's the woman. She's... well, I don't know. She's a woman."

"Eloquently stated."

"And then there's this guy, he's a hip hop dancer...!"

"Did you say 'hip hop'?"

"... and so he totally knows what he's talking about."

"Like you do."

"And then there's this other guy. And that's the judges!"

And then he grinned at me for a minute.

"Um. OK."

"I like it."


"The show. It's good!"

"OK then."

Tomorrow night I'm going to leave him another bottle of wine and turn it onto a fishing channel. Just tell me you wouldn't want to hear that recap.