Because of an old Boy Scout connection and because I'm married to an old Boy Scout I don't get to go to either knitting or writer's tonight. Rats. How come stuff always pops up on the one night a week that I do things for me, huh? Can you tell me that?
January 22--Heinrich Wilhelm Schlesinger, Portrait of a Spanish Woman. Anya's dark brown eyes gazed out at the room. She betrayed none of the turmoil she felt. The waves of voices ebbed and flowed, rose and fell, opposite to the music played by an earnest and sweating quartet in the corner. She thought that the music was all wrong for the occasion and the guests. Rather than the stately Viennese waltzes, so proper for a debutante ball, the musicians should be a band of gypsies throwing their hair out of their eyes and flinging music to the rafters. Maybe then more than the three geriatric couples she could see would be out there dancing.
That's all you get today; I have to leave for work in 10 minutes. Have fun tonight. Without me.
--Barbara
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