Granted I was a Freudian Slip for Halloween; who knew I’d give an encore performance at Christmas. It’s the evening of December 26, and I’ve traveled 40 minutes by car to reach destination Blue Martini in West Palm Beach’s Disneyesque City Place. A reader was due to meet me there. He doesn’t read for the blind or to malnourished children; he reads my blog (almost as noble). Through email correspondence, we decided to meet up, and that took balls for me. As a single woman, I’m painfully aware of the lonely stalkers out there, but I trusted my webstincts, filled the gas tank, and headed south to a very public destination.
Along with my cup size, nationality, and affinity for sushi and eating with my hands, Plantation knew my love of The Barenaked Ladies.
“Did you see them when they were in New York this month?”
“Yes, I did.”
“They were great, huh?” No one ever thinks her favorite band sucked on stage; this was a good assumption.
“No. It was their holiday show, promoting their new festive album, so they were singing songs like Jingle Balls.” I then pecked at my Shiraz.
“I think you mean Jingle Bells.”
“Oh god, I said balls didn’t I? My family is so rubbing off on me. This is terrible.”
Then I laughed because in one sentence I managed “balls” and “rubbing off” while discussing family, not sex. Then he laughed, and it was real and a nice affirmation that there are good people out there over the Web. They aren’t all lonesome stalkers with too much time on their hands to advise you on your life based off a moment of a thought you posted; they’re caring, funny, and normal—in a good, non-long-winded-let-me-tell-you-about-my-entire-childhood-in-an-email way. Thank you, Plantation, for reviving my faith in the goodness of blog readers everywhere. You’ve got one up on that Tiny Tim fellow. Oh God, I just wrote “tiny” and “fellow” in one sentence.