Fairy Godmother's Day Off

This is not a rant.  It's a whine.  Now and then it happens.  It's mercifully rare.

There were no white mice, and there wasn't a pumpkin either.

I had called any of my friends who usually went to the Montpelier contra dance, and no one was available to give me a ride out to the grange.

I wasn't going to call other non-dancing friends. I have my pride, and besides, what would I do when the dancing ended just before midnight. run the couple of miles home in my black Chinese slippers?

I put the skirt I'd bought at a clothing booth at Old Songs away, and tossed my dancing shoes to the back of the closet.

I was staying in for the evening.

I watched the twilight of the late April evening deepen and thought of the band warming up, the caller assembling the first sets for the dance, and at 8:30, much earlier than usual, I got into my bath robe and got into bed with a book and the cat.

I was unashamedly sulking.

It's rare for me to actually be stranded when I want to go somewhere, I can find rides to the most amazing places, a gig up in Glover, a party in Craftsbury, a dance in Nelson NH, a meeting in Brownington. I have succeeded in getting rides to tiny, far flung towns as much as two hours away, and here I was unable to get two or three miles to a dance in my home town!

I didn't like it. I tossed and turned, annoying the cat no end. I paged through my book, skipping passages with an impatient flick and rustle of paper. I thought of the attractive fellow I'd danced with the month before, of how I'd hoped to meet him again, chat with him, flirt a little, maybe even waltz.

I got up, restless and sad. In a fit of masochism, I put in a CD of one of my favorite dance bands, brushed my teeth, took my eye drops and finally went to sleep to Wild Asparagus playing the Spokane Waltz.

Sometimes I guess the fairy godmother needs a day off.

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