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My heart trembles.
Marvin Gaye and other soulful singers created that feeling through their music, but it's so much nicer when it comes from that special someone and, you know, in your actual reach.
~sigh~
Okay, enough with the mush. In the real world, there are some things that can really get you in trouble. A man says or does just the right thing, and before you know it, you're sling-shotting your underwear across the room and getting your hair all messed up. That's all right - if you are in a committed relationship, not drunk or doing anything against your will or better judgement. Not only is that all right, it's a good thing.
I said all that just to tell you about something really nice that I saw on G+ yesterday:
I don't care who you were, I don't care where you been. I care about who you are and who you plan to be with me.
Now, damn! That's what you call a nice rap. Get a couple of drinks down, have the Sade going - you're going to get in some trouble.
When I saw that posted, I had to comment that if the right man said that to me, I'd hurt myself making him mine. Don't know why I'm playing. If the wrong man said that to me, my knees would probably wobble.
-
Anyway, that line was so good, I called up one of my best friends (B.B.) to tell her about it. After she cussed me out for calling her so late, she told me I was just being susceptible again. (She really talks like that. Sometimes. Sometimes, she talks like Moms Mabley or Nina Simone. She is the woman who got me and the other BFFs calling each other "bitch" as a term of endearment. She says you have to really love someone to call them a bitch only because it's easier than saying "I love you, girl." But I'm wandering again.)
I guess I am susceptible. B.B. says I have to be very careful right now about letting my knees get wobbly. When I first left T, I crashed with B.B. and her sister in their place outside of Houston. I hadn't slept well for months because T's favorite form of abuse was sleep deprivation. He'd get drunk and threaten to rape me if I dozed off or he'd stomp around the house, ranting and raving about anything-nothing, so I'd be afraid to sleep with him there. I am ashamed to say now that I sometimes slept with him just to make him leave me along. When I got to B.B.'s, I was tired and jumpy. After I got caught up on my sleep, B.B. and her sister T.D. (now my sister too) tried to make me remember what it was like to enjoy life. I think this is when B.B. first realized she'd better warn me not to get caught up in my weakness.
We went to a wine festival somewhere out on a ranch/winery and I got drunk just doing a taste-testing. When this ninety-something year old guy told me I was pretty, I damn near swooned. B.B. dragged me to the dining room and started feeding me goat cheese canapes. She tried to make it look like we were just chatting when she was really pinching my earlobe and threatening me under her breath.
"Sober your drunk ass up before you end up in a hay pile with Father Time," she warned. "If I ever knew CPR, I've forgotten it.You're going to give that old man a heart attack while we're out here in Klan country."
I thought that was funny (because I was drunk), but B.B. wasn't playing. "You know you're scared of dead bodies, " she reminded me.
I looked over at Colonel Sanders and he grinned at me. Dirty old man. What the hell had I been thinking? Ew.
Susceptible.
Yeah, and that wasn't the worst. The worst had to be when we went to some trendy dive in downtown's "art district" to see a drag show. We had to walk four blocks from where we parked and I turned my nose up at every guy trying to hit on us along the way, but when I got into the bar, I became "susceptible" again. I got into a deep and meaningful conversation with some guy I'll call Jessie.
Sitting in the middle of a roomful of superfreaks, Jessie and I were talking about everything from molecular design to quantum thought. If you want to know how ridiculous that is, know that I had to use a dictionary to spell "quantum."
Right when the discussion was getting good and I got all caught up in what nice hands Jessie had, he suddenly excused himself. I'm sitting there, ignoring B.B.'s mama-glare, sipping Couvoiser (as if I'm such a connoisseur), listening to the music and thinking what a nice guy Jessie is, what a sweet guy.
The drag show started and the first act came on looking a whole lot like Jessie in a cheap wig and shoes that I to this day want to buy. He can have the ugly ass dress he was wearing.
Damn. Really?
B.B. damn near fell off her stool laughing. She was laughing so hard I thought we were going to be asked to leave. We left anyway, but still... T.D. didn't laugh at me, but she did want to stick around and ask Jessie where the hell he got those bad-to-bone shoes he was wearing.
"A drag queen," B.B. crowed. "You were getting hit on by a drag queen!"
Susceptible.
I kind of cooled out after that. A couple of days after the Jessie incident, we girls went to a festival of street art by black and Latino artists and I completely behaved myself. Flirt that I am, I even controlled my impulse to let some junior politician seduce me with his talk on funding for some project or other. I think I even yawned at some point. This made B.B. a happy woman.
"Good girl," she encourage. "Keep those knees steady."
That heifer. When I called and told her about that smooth line about smooth line from G+, she let me go on and on before she got sick of it.
"Baby," she said. "I have two words for you: drag queen."
I had one word for her, but she hung up before I could tell her. She is right though, I need to get myself into check.
Peace
--Free
P.S.: The line from G+ made me think of this one by Melody Gardot and I'm going to post over there. You need to check her out. That little young gal can put it down. I like Worrisome Heart because I do have some troublesome ways.
