My friend, Big D (he's not actually big but when we met him, my then-roommate and I needed to distinguish him from Little D), phoned me this morning at 9 am (9 am!! This man has not phoned me in years, except for Tuesday to invite me to his birthday party this Saturday, and certainly never at 9 am. He still has a nightlife!).
Big D: So we're having a fondue tomorrow night for my party.
Big D: [uncomfortably] And we're borrowing a fondue set from Leigh but I think I need another one. Can we borrow yours?
Me: Well, you could, except we don't have one.
Big D: [shock and horror] And you call yourself married?? How can you be married and not have a fondue set?
Me: [trying to jog my memory] I don't think I have one. I think I'd remember getting a fondue set.
Big D: Oh. You have totally rocked my world. I thought fer sher you would be our go-to person. You seem like such a fondue person.
Me: I know. But they're pretty easy to find these days I think. Fondue is the new... I don't know... black.
Big D: [hollow laugh] It's the new ass crack.
The reason he was so shocked was not only because I am the only married person he knows but because I am (or was anyways, I'm not sure I've been able to keep my membership up to date recently) a disco freak. I love disco music, love the fashions (except for polyester. I did once go through a polyester phase because the prints and colours are great but I soon discovered that it is the most impractical material ever made: it's cold and wet when it's cold and wet, hot and steamy when it's hot and steamy - oh, I guess that's why people like it [wink wink] - and inflammable [in the correct usage of the word; flammable is one of Dave's pet peeves and as his wife I must respect them]), and I think I love the attitude too, or what I imagine was the attitude since I was only 4 when the seventies went away.
Anyways, maybe we will have to get Big D his very own fondue set.
Weekend Reading: The Back on Track Edition
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