Its a fitting day to begin the month of music. And I have just the song. Amidst endless birthday calls, never-ending rounds of feedback and proof checking, and not being able to sit in my chair long enough to listen to a single song form beginning to end, I realised that every time I returned to my desk, I would keep going back to the one song I actually wanted to listen to, but just couldn’t.
And there’s more where that came from. For two days now Ranjan has been bursting into 70’s style John Travolta moves, in an earnest attempt to learn to dance like him. Because let’s face it, there is nothing like a man who can move like John can. I don’t care what anybody says about pansy, gay, metrosexual — whatever! It takes sheer talent and a free open I-dont-give-a-damn kind of attitude to pull that off. And John Travolta has it all. And more.
I swear, if I ever meet a real life Travolta, pink pants, greased back hair and all, I’d probably still reconsider my marriage. Ok maybe not just if I met him. But if he danced for me. Yes. I most certainly will.
Thankfully, the husband can move. Well, at that. Teehee. But you know what I mean, right? Of all the universal things that make any girl go weak in the knees, its a man who moves like he owns the dance floor, pulling off the high-waist, garishly colored bell-bottoms, and sending the moves like they were made for him.
Also, I think John Travolta knows he can dance. And he knows the chics dig it. And that accounts for all the uber confidence. So yes, it helps. And on the day I turn 28 and step into my 29th year, it seems like the perfect day to hit pause, go back and listen to the song from beginning to end. From a time when things were simple, flashy, real and fun.