One Whipped Mother

She's a Very Kinky Girl

My goodness, but did I have fun this past weekend! Went to a club, the first Lar and I have been to together in, oh, years -- memories get fuzzy after four kids and sixteen years of marriage. Now that our oldest is capable of babysitting her younger siblings until the wee hours, we may make this a regular event. Well, at least a yearly event. Bi-yearly? Whatever. We will certainly go clubbing again before we’re too old to kick up our heels without fear of breaking a hip.

I adore my husband’s willingness to get out onto the dance floor with me -- and if you’ve ever seen me dance, you’ll understand why that should thrill me so. I become a madwoman once the drums start banging and the lights start swirling and the third beer starts working its sexy magic...I dance with complete abandon, without restraint, and I totally lose myself in the moment, fly to another plane of existence, and just dance, man. Good for me, not so good for those who don’t like attention on the dance floor. And if you know Lar, you know that the words “attention whore” and “Lar” are about as synonymous as, say, “Whitney Houston” and “class.” But Lar sucks it up and tries not to notice the panting geezer blatantly ogling his jiggling, pelvis-thrusting wife, the row of Guidos leering in the peripheral, their big heads bobbing like the boys from “A Night at the Roxbury.” He accepts the fact that his wife doesn’t dance to her partner’s beat, that she cannot be lead, that she will go someplace else for a while, someplace that makes her happy and excited and relaxed all at the same time. He endures the spotlight without complaint, without visible embarrassment, and just steps back and lets his wife do her thing.

That’s love, folks.

posted by Ms. Lori @ 9:11 AM