Last night Mike and I attended the one-year-anniversary party of our favorite local radio show, Too Beautiful To Live. It was a skating party at Skate King in Bellevue. The last I skated was in the second grade at my friend Ashley’s birthday party. I fell down at some point and I was young enough so it was okay to hold my knee and sob until someone came out with an ice pack. Now if I want to fall down and cry, I’m offered a security escort because apparently TARGET IS A PLACE OF BUSINESS, MA’AM, NOT A THERAPIST’S COUCH. That really hurts, especially the security guard tells me to just watch the end of The Notebook and let it out, woman. LET IT OUT.
After we waited in the most trenchfoot smelling lobby, Mike and I paid for our skates and headed to the floor. Mike had joked that he would own me because he used to skate all the time. I’m assuming this was during the Jimmy Carter administration when everyone talked about this funny thing called color television and wearing sweaters instead of turning up the heat. Mike held his own, even when he was gripping the sides of the of rink. I didn’t need any help.
I was almost pulled down by a guy who bumped up behind me. He apologized really quickly but I could tell the dude just wanted to freak nasty with me on the floor. I think Lil Wayne does that to people.
You can hear Mike yell, “Help!” at the end, but I turned off the camera so it cut him off before he could finish the sentence with, “my wife is so grown up now I’ll have to increase her allowance!” But I should be the one calling for help because what will I do with that extra two dollars? Stuff it in a piggy bank I guess until I can afford a pink Nintendo DS. A girl can dream!