Today I was at a potluck lunch where the guests included a number of my relatives.
When I walked in, my sister-in-law congratulated me on the award I won this week for my book, Nova.
“What did you win an award for?” One of the ladies asked, with a time that suggested she was surprised that I could win an award for anything.
“Pole dancing,” I replied.
Nobody laughed. It was such a good line, too.
One lovely young lady, whom I didn’t know, said, “Really? That’s fantastic!”
Seriously, one look at me should have told her I am no pole dancer. Between my decrepit spine and my fibromyalgia, the only thing I can ever climb these days is the pain scale between 1 and 10.
“No, it was for my book. I write poetry.”
“Oh. That’s… kind of cool.”
But not as cool as pole dancing. I get it.