Imaginary Diary-Peeking

This is in fact a Virtual Blog Tour. I could’ve named it that like a normal person, but you see, then my title would have looked the same as all the other Virtual Blog Tours out there. Booooor-ing.

For the record, Virtual = Imaginary. Blog = Diary. Tour = Peeking. I realize you probably didn’t need me to spell it out for you, but please don’t be insulted. I just have a compulsive need to clarify sometimes.

Anyhow, even though I don’t accept awards, I decided to go ahead and do the blog tour because I desperately needed an excuse to write. I’ve been seeing several other bloggers’ posts about writer’s block — the “I don’t know what to write, so I decided to write about how I don’t know what to write” ones — and I was just about to resort to that myself when Ms. Amelia Groves of “Putting Words Together”-chestershire (say it all together, fast — it works in my head) asked me to answer a few questions. Why not, said I!

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On dancing partners, or the lack thereof

All these years, I thought I wanted my special someone to be a fantastic dancer who could sweep me off my feet. He’d have to, to make up for my two left ones. I always thought it would be the most romantic thing in the world to glide across the ballroom dance floor with my prince charming.

I’ve changed my mind.

I want my special someone to be a horrendous dancer. Just abysmal. An absurd jingle-jangle of limbs that you can’t make sense of, because you’re too busy laughing your guts out watching.

And I want to dance with this someone — in the privacy of our own apartment — stomping around and waving our arms with wild abandon to the sound of our Disney Favorites playlist on shuffle, not caring how ridiculous we look, because goshdarnit, we’re having the time of our lives.

handsome stranger

Well, hello there.
I hadn’t expected to see you again.
Where are you off to?
Work?
Me, too.
What do you do?
You’re a journalist?
Wow, that’s so cool.
I would have guessed male model.
Ha.
I did NOT just say that.
What do you think about, standing in the metro on your way to work?
You ponder the latest book you read?
And the next fantastic piece you’re going to write?
And the meaning of life and everything?
What a great answer.
I do that, too.
Oh, this is your stop?
Alright, I’ll let you go.
Nice meeting you.
Maybe we’ll see each other on another Monday morning commute.
Goodbye…