I’ve always suffered the unfortunate circumstance of being both romantically inclined and challenged. Like the emotional equivalent of William Hung, I long to sing, knowing I can’t and so I end up bumbling awkwardly through a verse or two of love, never quite making it to the chorus.
My most recent debacle wasn’t even supposed to happen. I wasn’t looking. Didn’t want any part of it actually. But a friendship formed and danced on the cusp of becoming something more. But like I said, I’m armed with two left feet and so we predictably tripped into the proverbial punch bowl.
The evening ended, the band packed up, and the house lights dimmed on the hope I had of starting something new and forgetting something old.
People speak of the famous 15 minutes like it’s a bad thing. Me, I’m jealous of that ballsy Chinaman. At least he felt the warmth of the spotlight…if only for a moment.
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