What was I thinking?

My Sexy American Girlfriend has an empty nest, and I do not. At times this can create some frustration as we don't spend enough time together doing "couple things." In an effort to think out of the box, Jud suggested we take a dance class.


Yes, gentle reader, you are probably screaming at the monitor "What are you doing? One of your favorite phrases from years past is that you believe 'Hell has a dance floor.'" I know. You will also recall that instead of seeing a red flag and taking a pause, Jud jams down on the accelerator and unfastens his seatbelt.


The class was billed as a Novice level West Coast Swing. We showed up a few minutes and watched a class finishing up. The instructor was young, but seemed sweet and friendly. Soon it was our time, and the class had 5 couples and the instructor and her partner, who, due to the lack of men, was another young lady.

We started learning the first few steps, and my SAGF and I were laughing and cutting up as we tried to learn and keep up. After about 10 minutes of fumbling around they announced we were to switch partners. What the hell? I signed up to learn something with my special lady friend. I wanted us to laugh and have fun. My mood quickly changed, as they tried to teach new steps on top of the ones I had already not learned. And then we switched partners again and again.

All of my partners and it seemed all of the other people in the class seemed to have some grasp of the basic moves and they were more interested in learning how they were combined and ordered for this particular dance.

Jud lasted 45 minutes out of 60, which isn't bad. I was fine sitting and watching, but I was done. I felt embarrassed - humiliated even - and abandoned. The SAGF has witnessed my introvert's social anxiety on three other occasions over the past 3 years, but this was one of the worst.

I can almost laugh about it now, but not really.

Oddities in the Office

Jud was in the break room the other morning fixing a hot mug of bad coffee from some Keurig kind of device that company supplies ( I appreciate the gesture and the fact that the coffee is free. That doesn't make it taste any better). A colleague came in turned on the hot water tap in the sink full blast. Then she walked away to fill up this 1/2 gallon pitcher with ice from our industrial ice maker. Then she shook her pitcher to "settle" the ice, and put some more into it. Then she put hot water over the ice.


For a moment I thought perhaps she making some tea or other beverage using some arcane process learned from a monk high in the Appalachians, but no. When another bystander asked what she was doing, she replied "I don't like my ice water too cold."

Finals!

Today is the last day of finals for Little One, who is now 16. Damn. The end of her sophomore year, and she will be glad to see it end. It hasn't been a stellar academic year, more of "I hope she marries well" or "how long will she live at home" year.

She does have gainful employment for the summer, working as a lifeguard for $8/hour. So far her job has cost me about $300 in certification and uniforms. I was going to ask her pay some of this back, but the SAGF (Sexy American Girlfriend). gave me a look and then said, "Why?" with a shake of her short, blonde hair and disbelief in her eyes.

So, gentle readers, let me introduce the SAGF, who I hope to hell never reads this. We met, and begin dating, about 3 years ago. She is also divorced, her 2 kids are in college, and she has a good job and family. Why she puts up with Ol' Jud is a question for future scholars to study and debate, as it is a great mystery of the modern age.

But back to finals. I don't recall what her final is today, but it isn't Chemistry or History. I know that because her History teacher called me and, very kindly, told me that she hadn't taken up the make-up test for Chapter 10 of some text. I thanked him and told Little One later last night. In disbelief that she had forgotten, she remarked that she could not recall the subject of Chapter 10. Perhaps Chapter 10 should be called Chapter X of the Secret Tome of Forgotten Knowledge, 4th edition.

 I suggested she could reference her notes, but before the all of the words of that sentence had left my mouth, I was informed that the notes had been destroyed in a fit of teenage celebratory ecstasy at the end of the term. The irony that the term wasn't quite over yet for her didn't sit well.

Barring some odd mishap she should be allowed to begin her penultimate year of high school in the late summer. Best of luck, Little One.