A band that my friend Fluffy loves was playing locally and Fluffy convinced us all to go out Saturday night and watch them. We even managed to get our men lined up for a night of schmoozing and dancing. I love to dance, so I was a wee bit excited to go out and shake my groove thang with the girls while our husbands looked on with pride at our combined hotness.
Saturday night comes and we all met up at the best spot in town to get sweet potato fries. The band has already set up their equipment, and Fluffy has managed to secure a table with ten seats, although keeping those seats empty until we all showed up was an exercise in bloody, tactical warfare if you ask her.
The pub is crowded with loud conversation, the band tuning up and servers making their way through the ever growing surge of people waiting for the music to start. The appetizers and drinks are flowing, and people are ready for a good time.
The party starts with the first note that hums through the speakers and monitors at the noisy pub. The crowd grows quieter as the music grows louder. Either that or I just can’t hear anyone over the music, which is okay – because the band is good. If I could get through the press of people at my back, I would go dance. Fluffy and Tami don’t care. They crawl over the top of the table and dance their way down the middle so they can get to the floor and give their groove thangs some freedom. I boogie in my chair with envy as my partner.
I look through the top of the window at the front of the pub and see some of the thousands of twinkling lights on the trees of Bridge Street. Outside is cold, but in here the warmth flows from the music, the laughter, the dancing and the people singing along to every well-played cover song.
Fluffy makes her way back to the table and sits for just a second, because in the next, a Blue Rodeo song is played and Fluffy takes that as her cue to sing as if it’s her last chance for the final on Canadian Idol. Thank the Lord for loud music. As soon as she sat again, the keyboard player started “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette. When Fluffy’s husband gave us a rare performance of his Alanis love, I was sure my stomach muscles would collapse from so much laughter.
When the band is allowed to Take Five, it’s an almost crushing silence. I try to start a conversation with Peter and realize I am on my way to laryngitis.
Now, is that because I was talking loud enough so I could be heard over the music? Or was it because I was singing every song as if my musical career depended on it too? Yes, you guessed it. A night at the pub with a really great band caused it.
Can’t wait to do it again.
