The Weekend Starts on Wednesday

Oh the good ol' Wednesdays. I'd call Tiffany while at my post at Zanavoo.

"I'll get cut (restaurant term, I wasn't into self-mutilation), early and we'll head down."

We'd get gussied (or hussied, the terms could have been used interchangebly in those days of my hour-glass shaped youth :), in a hurry, and drive at mock to make it to THE ONE, THE ONLY,

OMNI.

Center Street, Provo, Utah 84604

Even if my waitressing duties gave us but a small moment to jam at the neon flashing, b.o. smelling, music pumping joint, we'd go. Oh we'd go!

Here we are jamming to "California Love".

And oh the trips to the bathroom! I have naturally curly hair, right?! The humidity heads to 97% on that floor folks.

Yes, I was one of those girls. Short skirt and too much make-up wearing, clubbing fool. The weekend started on Wednesdays ( I quote my love), because that was the night the Omni was on fire.

And then, that fateful Wednesday. "Twisted" came on and Keith Sweats' sexy alto voice came through the speakers. I was probably sweating because we'd just gotten our groove on to a Biggy jam. That was our first, our last, our everything slow dance, my man and I. Although he'll kill me for posting it.





He was wearing an obnoxious Tommy Hilfiger shirt (probably one of the first in the state of Utah. I still couldn't pronounce it yet). And then, in the parking lot, when I'd recovered some of my hearing, he pushed that slow Southern accent through his preppy (oh yes, preppy), plump lips. It was all over for me. I was on him like stink on a girl who dances in the middle of 150 people at a nightclub with little or no air conditioning.

Next week we will have been officially jamming to Keith Sweat's "Twisted" for 13.5 years (11 of them married). We've both still got our grooves although they jiggle a little on the up beat, and we now usually have a child or four, hanging on our leg or held between us when we're getting jiggy.

Tonite we had a bbq with the old group. Boy, we had some times. We were all (with the exception of James, the only one with a real job), broke. We'd bbq every Sunday, and if we had it we'd pitch in $5.

Denali & Tenniel, Damon & Summer, James & Shannon, Moses & Lindsey, Moi & the big indian

Salt of the earth, these guys (if they didn't lose it all on the dance floor oh so long ago). Between us (including Tiffany), we have 18 little buggers to lock down in the next 18 years so that Wednesday is reserved for quiet scripture study or knitting.