I’ve never been great with labels. There have been occasions when I have watched two friends of mine meet each other for the first time, and it’s odd to watch them putting all the pegs into the appropriate holes about each other. Occupation, education, hobbies, diet… and depending on the availability of wine, politics. And sometimes I’ll realize that sitting in on this getting-to-know-you small talk brings out something I didn’t know about a friend. Like that they’re Hobby Paragliders, or Vegans, Ivy-League grads, Republicans. Suddenly I see my friend as a new set of eyes would.
I’m writing this in my Zumba outfit. I came home a little frayed at the edges owing to a new instructor that likes to interject a shrill “Whoooo, YEAH!!!” into her routine every few minutes that make you jump in alarm, and enjoys flustering you by dancing up to you at stranger-danger closeness and staring you in the eye as she gyrates. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry, but I’m pretty sure I made a couple muffled noises that were something in between.
I am so happy to be snuggled up now with a big bowl of this soup.