I was out on the Town last night to see a band at a small club nearby. No kids, new jeans, a couple of glasses of wine and a cupcake gave me the nutrients I needed to step out of my comfort zone and into the dark and crowded place. Six girlfriends and I squeezed through the crowd with fresh stamps on our hands for a better view of the band. I knew the lead singer and guitarist giving me a little more boogie to those first beats. Next to me, a nice looking guy stepped into the same groove and looked over, "This is great," he said, and I nodded in agreement.
"You've heard her play before?" I asked as I kept on dancing. He glanced from his friends to my group of girls.
"Yeah, you?"
There was a great vibe in the room, familiar tunes pulsing from the speakers. I proclaimed loudly and proudly, "Oh yeah! She's my son's guitar teacher!" And it occurred to me that I might have misread his cue as soon as I gave myself away. His furrowed brow said it all, and he and his friends danced away. Times like these make me glad to be an open book.
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