Paint the town: BYO Flounce.
Kate, Morgan, and I decided to have a dance party a week and a bit ago. The dress code: flouncy (naturally). So I grabbed my dancin’ shoes and flounciest flounce and headed to the Island. Got to meet Kate’s bees when I got there!
Morgan made pizza! This was the third time I’ve encountered anchovies in my life, the second time I’ve seen them since moving to Maine, and the first time I have actually put one in my mouth.
And, of course, there was Prince and dancing and whiskey and general shenanigans (including a brief but heartfelt Chi-burber Sox vs. Cubs show-down). And ALRIGHT, Shak has got it goin’ on. There, I’ve said it. I’m not ready to admit to being converted, though, and I still stand behind Lady Gaga any day of the week.
All in all, it was one helluva night. Goal for next time: get more butts in the seats… or since it’s a dance party, tootsies on the floor boards. AKA: we need more friends!
I spent the next day relaxing on the island. Maybe it was the intoxicating and salty smell of dried dancing-sweat on my body, or the warm and fuzzy taste of night-before whiskey on my tongue. Or chocolate-chip-cherry-walnut pancakes. Or having a hug quota so filled up that I had to put some in storage. Whatever it was, I was having one of those mornings where everything just felt… right.
I drove up Cadillac Mountain and had a difficult time taking in the view without screaming and laughing with the release of emotions I can’t articulate (I’ll admit I was crying too… but only because of the ghastly wind!). Is this truly where I’m living?!
Heart filled with ocean views… check.