Yes!
I can smell the Tide.
No.
Not the ocean tide.
The laundry detergent.
Ah, breathe it in.
Laundry Day at the
dingy Laundromat
with its coin operated
machines that perform
dismally on a good day and the
deplorable music on the radio.

Where’s my beloved iPod Touch?
Ah, yes! In my pocket
as usual. Now,
the new Metro Station album!
Empty Laundromat!
Dance party? I think so.
Singing,
“You know she’s
dancing at the disco!”
as loud as I can.
My hair is flying like
palm tree leaves in a hurricane and
I am popping and
locking and body rolling like
no one is watching,

because no one is.
Until I turn around.
The gorgeous boy from
next door is there,
with his lime green
and electric blue, checkered,
Classic Vans, and his
skater-boy-shaggy, brown hair
paired with bright, blue eyes,
brought out by the baby blue
diamonds on his
preppy-turned-punk
argyle sweater.

I look shocked.
He looks amused.
I can feel the heat as
my cheeks turn the color of the
red mustang
parked across the street.
I shuffle my own
black and yellow
checkered Vans
in embarrassment.
He smiles.
The half smile.
Nice.
I laugh.
“Gnarly dancing,” he smirks,
“and shoes.”

He likes my shoes…
he is in.
“Thanks. You’re rockin’ some
pretty sick kicks yourself.”
He nods, and pauses…

“So what are you doing
Friday night?”
he looks hopeful.
I start to dance again…
on the inside. This sounds
like a date invitation, so I say,
“No plans yet.”

The half smile is back…
swoon-worthy.
“Can I take you on a date?”
“That would be fantastic,” my
smile is overwhelming my
body, enveloping me like a
big, fluffy
quilt on a cold day.
“Sweet. I’ll pick you up at eight,”
he says as he
turns to leave.
The door shuts.
“Yes!” I squeal.
Smack! My hand
meets my forehead as he
sticks his head back in and
says, “I heard that.”

“And for the record, I’m excited too.”
Indeed,

I have a special
place in my heart for
laundry day.
And Metro Station.