The movie Saturday Night Fever was released the summer of my 21st birthday.
Twice I went to see it. The first time with a guy/date. He got jealous while I sat drooling over John Travolta’s dance moves.
A couple weeks later, I went with a girlfriend.
After the movie, we stopped to get milkshakes and discuss its goods and the bads, and how life portrayed in Manhattan connected to what we knew in the Valley growing up.
It seemed much better the second time I saw it.
Much better with pleasant company.
In the months that followed, the soundtrack zoomed to the top of the radio listening charts. Several dance places opened, with the sparkly ball overhead, and the light-up panels on the floor.
The fella mentioned before proved to be a worthwhile dance partner. We were at a club every chance we could get.
Whoever could have known that this summer of my 50th birthday, when the song Saturday Night Fever came on the tiny radio I keep in the laundry room, I’d be counting the little steps and swaying hips while changing the litter in the cat box.
Times steals softly…….
~~love and Huggs, Diane