The other night: a typical evening. Disheveled in appearance, I was sunk in the oversized sofa wearing my regular mismatched fushia pj/lounge wear--a fuschia pj top with white and green stars and hearts; a different fuschia pj pants with large pink, purple and orange polka dots--with Allen, my appendage, attached to my boob.
The new CD by Silverspoon Pickups, a band we discovered recently, which I got for Christmas, was playing. I lost myself in music; involuntarily, my head started bobbing to the beat. For a few stolen seconds I felt as if I were in the old 9:30 club. Then I snapped out of it. Still, Andy noticed.
"I just had this vision of you in a club listening to the band, like you are now, wearing those pajamas with Allen attached to you," he said.
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