After enjoying a few hefeweizens and a french dip sandwich in honor of St. Patrick’s day, I retreated home and fully intended to consider going to bed. It was, after all, nearly 11 PM.
It was at this time that I received a text message from So Hip.
“It’s St. Patrick’s Day, wondering what you might be up to?”
I informed her I had just arrived home and she quickly replied with her location and an invitation.
“Here at the studio. Having a great time. Maybe you could come down for a glass of wine?”
I accepted the invitation, asked if she had wine or if I should bring some, and she replied ‘yes’ to both. She then sent me a picture of her feet resting on a stool. Immediately after that she sent me a picture of some red duct tape boots. I’m assuming to bait me. She knows I’m a sucker for good boots.
The minute I arrived she opened my wine, poured each of us a glass and said, “We have to dance.”
This wasn’t our first dance party. D-Dog and I shared a lovely dance party with her last year.
After bustin’ a few moves we sat on the couch and enjoyed our wine.
“Ever since we were small, we knew,” So Hip told me, paused briefly, then finished her thought, “We have to be true to ourselves. And look at us, we’re doing it. Let’s sing; we have to sing.”
Within seconds we were belting out Fleetwood Mac and So Hip’s all-time favorite, Down in the Meadow by Marilyn Monroe.
A few songs and dances later and she was ready for a change of pace.
“We have to go on the roof.”
As I often do when we’ve been drinking, I had reservations about climbing a rickety, rusted, old fire escape ladder.
“We don’t have to go on the roof,” she kindly informed me and made her way back down the ladder, in her dress.
Once back in her art studio we had more wine, sang more songs and artistic inspiration sparked.
“We have to draw,” she told me.
She busted out the charcoal, flipped to a clean sheet of paper and we were busier than Banksy in no time.
Our work was good, real good, and So Hip was hungry, real hungry.
“We have to eat.”
Although it was St. Patrick’s Day, it was actually the day after at this point and most restaurants were closed. So, as we have done in the past, we stopped at one of the best fast-food Mexican restaurants in the city for a bean and cheese burrito.
Perhaps it was the lard in the homemade tortilla, the climb up the ladder, the artwork, the singing, the dancing, the drinking or a combination of it all, but So Hip had hit a wall and, with a half-eaten burrito by her side, she curled up in her blanket and drifted off to sleep.
I blew out the candles, turned the music down a notch or two, wrote a thank you on our art work, and headed home because, as she told me several times while we were dancing, “We have to work tomorrow.”
