(re-run)
Once divorced, I discovered dancing in nightclubs, some of them outside with trees and twinkling lights. Barone’s in Pleasanton had live music every Thursday, from May to October. The October nights were cool, with the sun setting at 6:30 or so. I put on my short dancing dress, went bare legged, with sandals on my feet, a denim jacket and black sweater at the ready for the drop in temperature when the sun went down.
The band was good, playing from 6:00 to almost 10:00 p.m. We had a table but hardly sat down. I put my purse (minus credit cards), my sweater and jacket on the table next to our chairs.
After the last song, we went back to the table to gather our things. My purse was there and the denim jacket, but my black sweater was gone. I ran around the large yard, looking for signs of it. My date wanted to leave.
“I have to find my sweater!” I said.
“It’s long gone,” he said.
I had to try to get it back. I went inside the restaurant and walked into the bar area. There on a bar stool sat a blonde woman wearing my black sweater.
How did I know it was mine? The scalloped edging on the hem.
All the stools were filled. I walked up behind the woman and said, “You’re wearing my sweater and you need to give it back.”
No response.
“Give me back my sweater,”’ I said again.
No response.
My boyfriend ducked his head in the door and then went back out.
At five feet, ten inches tall, I loomed over the petite woman on the barstool.
“Give my back my sweater,” I repeated.
“I’m cold,” the woman said. “Can I give it to you tomorrow?”
“Ha!” I laughed. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me or where I live. Give it back now.”
I stood there as the woman sipped her drink.
It took about five minutes, but the woman realized I wasn’t going to leave her alone. She took it off and handed it back to me, never turning her head.
“Thank you,” I said and walked out to find my boyfriend.
These days, I still go out dancing but now I take thrift store jackets with me. That way, if I lose one or it gets stolen, I won’t be so upset.
I lost a white sweater at a dance at the Elks’ Club. As soon as I realized I didn’t have it, we went back, but the staff insisted that they hadn’t seen it. The only thing that gave me satisfaction was that it was about twenty years old.
At least I hadn’t just bought it, as I had my new boots that I took off in a nightclub to put on my dance shoes. Somehow, I got home with only one boot in my shoe bag. That’ll teach me to wear my dancing shoes in the parking lot. It messed me up for the wedding the next day since my old boots were too loose. I had to borrow a pair of socks from a girlfriend at the church when I realized that my old boots were slip-sliding around on my feet.
Lost attire due to dancing.
But so worth it.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 