On Friday, we went out dancing at 1 a.m. - well, really, it was Saturday by the time we made it to the club - because the pop star was going to be a dj at the club, and because Grace Jones was going to be there.
Sure enough, Miss Jones showed up about 1:30, but I didn't see her because these drag queens were in the way, and she swept herself off, elaborate hat and all, to a back room somewhere.
We left about 3:00, and the next day the pop star told us that after she'd finished at the turntables, she went back to meet Miss Jones.
"I like your earrings," Miss Jones told the pop star. "You're coming to see me tomorrow?"
A whole conversation reduced to two sentences. "She went from A to Z in three seconds," the pop star said, laughing.
So, the next day, we duly went to see her, with the pop star.
The concert itself was, without a doubt, astounding. The crowd eclectic - lots of fashionistas so the husband was all kiss-kiss with shiny people I'd never met before - and Miss Jones really shook her thing. And sang. And hoola-hooped while walking around in shoes with six-inch spikes as thin as nails. And changed hats and coats for every single song - she was on stage for over 90 minutes. She looked just as she has always looked (the pop star said she looks great close to as well). I can't believe she is 60. Although if I think about it, I was dancing to "Pull up to the bumper, baby" in 1981. Was it really that long ago?
I only hope my ass looks that good when I'm 60.
Which won't be long, considering how fast the birthdays keep rushing at me.
I hope it's going to be a good year.
The Swedish word for the day is födelsedag, which has surely been the word of the day before. It means birthday.