Dancing Queen, Young and Sweet, Only 17 (give or take a little)

So, its date night. And I am going on a date. My gentleman caller (those who are in my circle of trust know his name, if you don't know it, let's call him Etienne. I do love all things French, after all) has invited me out. And not like on our regular dates to Home Depot or Wal-Mart. A real date, such that will require these:






I know it is totally gross that my shoes are on a table**. The only saving grace is that these are NEW shoes, and these lovelies are going out on the town for the first time tonight. Etienne is taking me out, and I am paying it forward by taking my gorgeous shoes out. (Sidebar: I have a Carrie Bradshaw-like relationship with my shoes. Sidebar to the Sidebar: how come a freelance writer with a huge apartment in Manhattan has money for $400 Manolos and a government drone with a decent apartment in Northern Virginia can barely afford to splurge on Nine West? ) Where we are going still remains a mystery. I want to go see Mamma Mia, but Etienne insists that Mamma Mia is a threat to his masculinity. I, and my shoes, say that if your masculinity is threatened by something as harmless as an ABBA flick, maybe you were on shaky ground to start with. I hope my shoes and I win and we get to spend the evening with Meryl Streep.

Happy Saturday everyone! Make it a good one because Monday is nipping at our heels.

**Some of your eyes may have been drawn past the shoes to the enormous stacks of books behind them. More will be said about that topic later but rest assured that contrary to popular rumor, I do NOT live in the Alexandria public library.