Back it up

Last night, I booty-danced in my car. It was glorious. It had just been “one of those days”. I dealt with impossible people, ate leftovers for lunch (blech), and listened to a man tell me the sordid details of his divorce (for 45 minutes), when all I really needed was for him to sign one blasted paper. (“And, I swear to God, I tried, I really did, but I just had it! And THEN, just when I thought we were getting somewhere, she pulled out a gun in marriage counseling...” –I’m not kidding. He really said that part about the gun!) I must have said the phrases “you poor thing”, and “my goodness!” at least three hundred times. Then he started talking about his efforts to “quit the booze”. Complete madness. So – when I got in my car, I yanked out my ponytail, rolled down the windows, and turned up the radio. When “Back That Thang Up” came on, I gave it heck. (“Girl you look GOOD when you back that thang up”…. Oh yeah, oh yeah.) Everyone should booty dance in their cars at least once a week. It should be a life requirement.