I admit it. I'm an addict. Michelle O'Neil gave me a taste of Dancing with the Stars on her blog, and I fell for it. Hoof, line, and sinker. I've been planning Monday nights around my show of choice: a simple dinner, a glass of wine, and a heaping helping of sequins and spangles.
I try to be careful, though. Mondays only. No results show on Tuesdays. That would be too much. Once in a while, I tune in for the last few minutes of Tuesay's show or catch it later on line. But only a few minutes, and not every week.
Late this afternoon I needed a break. (Cereal killing is hard work, you know.) I pulled up DwtS on line and watched Sabrina Bryan's exit. Watching Sabrina and her partner get the news brought tears to my eyes that had nothing to do with them leaving the show. Truth to tell, I haven't been very interested in them--she's too close to a professional dancer for my taste. I prefer the clutzes who find rhythm through hard work and dedication.
It was the way Mark wrapped his arms around Sabrina before the announcement that got me. It looked as if he were trying to insulate her from hurt, to shield her from the news to come. I've got no idea whether they're a couple. I don't care--I'm not that far gone. Yet.
But that simple gesture killed me. Those few seconds left me feeling a kind of loneliness I haven't felt for years. Maybe ever.
(Heavy Sigh). Long, long ago, Walt Disney convinced me that some day my prince would come. Now the network of his legacy is reminding me just how far I am from a fairy tale ending.
Clearly, delerium has set in. I'm going to have to quit the stuff. Cold turkey. Wanna go out next Monday? My schedule's wide open.