wanna rock your body

Don’t be so quick to walk away
Dance with me
I wanna rock your body
Please stay
Dance with me

I was rockin it to Justin Timberlake on the way to work this morning, ever so slightly hungover and I was thinking, Mmmm. Justin. And then I thought, You know, I don’t really want Justin. Too skinny, too…young. Besides, who wants to deal with his entourage??

I just want to dance with Justin.

It was that way with J’s roommate, B. You all remember B. We used to flirt, cajole and top it off with an amusing amount of silly innuendo — all the while being very aware that’s all there was to it.

But when you got us on the dance floor…

Fewer dance partners have been so in sync (obvious Justin Timberlake reference not intentional) or so totally uninhibited. For the very reason that dance floor antics were just that, there was no reason to be inhibited. Except for J, who, not nearly as good of a dancer as B, had a jealous streak a mile wide. Come to think of it, it was more a “Hey! You’re not paying attention to me!” streak a mile wide. I remember him actually prying B’s fingers off my hipbone with the hand that wasn’t gripping his Sapphire and tonic. Pathetic.

B called about ten minutes ago from somewhere in Florida where he’s hiding out these days, and announced he’ll be in town next week. When will I see you? I asked. Tuesday, he said. I’m in town for two whole weeks. Can we go dancing? I think we should. Nice.

Even better than Justin Timberlake.

No entourage to deal with.