70s Disco

Sometimes things have no meaning . . . they are what they are. In that regard, two weeks ago friend and I were chatting and clowning around. L is getting married in about two months, and she was asked if she bought her undies for the big day. She joked back that she wasn't planning on wearing anything.

Well, a few hours later while waiting in the car for her somehow the conversation got back to her not wearing undies. One of her bridesmaids remarked that she needed to talk with her, since she would be helping her get dressed. I, being a delightful jackass and pointer of the absurd, remarked that she did. Why? Because "there are somethings you don't want to know. Like if she goes bikini, Brazillin, or 70s Afro." At the 70s Afro comment, J doubled over laughing. We asked her why, and . . .

"I've got an image of a 70s disco dancer in my head."

At that I started singing "Stayin' Alive" to a chorus of laughter. At some point, reference was made to Miranda's character on a recent episode of "Grey's Anatomy" talking about keeping her "area" clean with "soap and water like God intended." There may or may not have been a chorus about "thank goodness that got admitted on TV." All should be good, sides aching from pain, and . . .

That night Afro 70s man haunted me in my dreams, as my vagina morphed into the head of said 70s dancer, in white polyester, singing "Stayin' Alive." Oh. Dear. God.