Why I Don't Go To Many Parties
Our friends Mark and Steff invited my husband and me to a party at their recording studio. Once there, I struck up a conversation with a man from Austria. We got right into the deep topic of yodeling and why Gwen Stefani should leave that to the Austrians, followed by a discussion on lederhosen and how wearing the leather shorts often leads to chafing. Something, unfortunately, I know too well.
(photo: me in lederhosen, sans shirt) My sister recently reminded me how our parents were constantly running after us with those damn things, "Wear the lederhosen!" Along with missing Rocky and Bullwinkle and the lack of Velveeta Cheese in Europe, wearing lederhosen was not one of my favorite parts of travel as a child.
That horrifying bit of party banter (yodeling and lederhosen) was followed by my confession to coupon clipping, which left a small crowd gasping. "No! You don't. Tell me you don't." Steff pleaded. What? Is that so weird?
Look, I confess, I don't go to many parties these days, so maybe I'm rusty in the party banter arena. In a previous post I mentioned how I told a group of men, as we discussed the greatness of Top Ramen at another recording studio party, "I bloat after eating it...from the salt." Once again, not a great party topic.
And then out came the bells
Later, Steff and Mark broke out all the instruments - people played guitars, a bass, the harmonica...but a lot of us were left empty handed. So someone came in with a box of tamborines, maracas and a big bunch of jingly bells. I got the bells. I shook those bells through Beatles' songs, Rolling Stones' songs, the Eagles...and then took a break. A woman ran out to get me in the hallway, "Hey, we need you in there! We need bells!"
Huh? Someone actually NEEDS bells? I thought as I ran in. A guitar player called me over.
Him: What's your name?
Him: Hmmm...Michele on Bells?
(And then promptly serenaded me, "Michelle, My Belle...," which left me staring into his eyes until he abruptly stopped playing.)
Him: Why aren't you shaking your bells?
So I did the only way I know how, by banging them on my hips. I discovered a while ago when learning the guitar, all my rhythm is in my hips. I can dance. But play the guitar? Not so good.
So when my husband walked into the room, he found me pounding the bells on my swaying hips in a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells" before a crowd. Once it ended, I put down my bells and dashed out of the room wondering what the heck I was thinking, as I passed a woman in the crowd who asked me if I belly dance. Oh my Gawd! I thought. Was I throwing my hips into it that much?
And that's why I woke up to my husband saying, "Hey there, bell lady."