I've decided that Washington D.C. in late August is a must. Evidently, there's a wee shindig happening, and there is nothing your Mare loves more than a shindig! And swag! A shindig with swag! I'm a-flutter, poppets!
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My original plan for the evening was to sit in a bathtub for far too long, then give myself a facial, and maybe have some alone time with Joan of Arcadia. Then, I figured I'd follow it up with a dessert of whatever TLC wanted to give me, because when in doubt, head to channel 34 for The Makeover-Dating-Second Chance-Perfect Proposal-Wedding Story. It does a sappy body good.
My sister ruined it all by casually asking me if I wanted to join her and her boyfriend for a game of badly played pool in a suburban bar/pool hall/neutral meeting grounds for the young, well-dressed, and upwardly mobiles who get far too much joy out of hearing Jesse's Girl played in the background.
Poppets, your Mare has a fascination with billiards. The sound of a break is a pleasing clatter that she can still hear and will enjoy 'til she can't. The more probable occurrence of sinking a ball by blind chance is still just as exciting as the rare one of sinking it on purpose.
I would love to learn how to play pool properly. An old boyfriend gave me my first lessons years ago, and I've adored it ever since. I play maybe twice a year, turning each game into one of the longer played in history. I don’t so much as ‘shoot pool’ as I ‘redecorate the table’. I tend to move the balls around more than actually scoring points or anything. But maaan, when it happens, there is some serious dance of joy that goes along with it.
It's sexy, you know? The whole process of figuring out the angles and doing the math, and drawing imaginary lines in your head, and then lining up the shot, knowing that sometimes, you're smart enough to wear pants that make your bottom look good when you're bending over the table... and then maybe pausing just before you take the shot to look up and give the boy at the next table a big smile from behind that big white ball...
Maybe that's how I'll meet Prince Charming. I'll place an ad in the personals that reads something like this:
Wanted: SWF seeks lessons in pool. Sense of humour a plus. Low-speakers need not apply. Balls required.
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