Blank screen. Blinking Cursor.
That’s what I’m looking at as I try to come up with appropriate words to describe the scene in the hotel lounge on Friday night. I’m trying to think of words that will convey my horror but I don’t want to be mean. Because if I tell you what I really think about the situation, it may come across as mean. Or perhaps even judgmental. And while I may sound that way, the truth is, it was highly entertaining. And maybe even a little scary.
What am I talking about, you ask? I’m talking about swinging. I’ll just let that sink in for a moment.
Yes, indeed. Apparently, the third Friday of the month is a “meet and greet” at the Doubletree for a local swinging group. I’m quite sure they were as surprised to find knitters and spinners in their midst as we were to find swingers in ours.
Just picture this: a bunch of us knit bloggers sitting at the bar, drinking beer, watching the people who were dancing. Just another Friday night at a club, right? Not really.
At first, we just thought they were sort of stuck in the 80s. Big hair, outdated clothing, tank tops and belly shirts and fishnet stockings. But the dancing was so over the top that we eventually realized there was more to it than a time warp. You’ve seen dirty dancing, so you have an idea of what I’m talking about but turn that up, say about twenty times, and you’ll get a mental picture of what we were watching. Because we were watching, make no mistake about it. It was like a train wreck – you know you shouldn’t look but you just can’t help yourself. I’ll just use two words: bumping and grinding. Take that to the nth degree and you’ll get the picture. I’m pretty sure it was all done to illustrate just how “bendy” each person could be. Ugh.
So I suppose I do sound judgmental. And I’m trying not to sound like that because I believe that everyone has a right to live their life in the way that makes them happy. And, as I already said, it was very very entertaining. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so much. I don’t understand it, that’s true. But you know what? Whatever melts your butter, kids.
Just don’t get your butter on my knitting, okay?