It was a perfect Southern California night. My friend Rhonda had just finished her latest gig, and we were walking to her car. The evening had been charmed by the leftover warmth of a summer day, the ocean breeze and Rhonda’s music.
So, as we left the sultry confines of the club and stepped out into the night, we reveled in the shirt-sleeve weather. Rhonda murmured, “Ball me.”
What did she say, was she suggesting …? I turned toward her, casually, and asked, “Hm? Whadjousay?”
“This weather,” she answered. “They call this ‘balmy’ weather.”
I cleared my throat and agreed.
So, as we left the sultry confines of the club and stepped out into the night, we reveled in the shirt-sleeve weather. Rhonda murmured, “Ball me.”
What did she say, was she suggesting …? I turned toward her, casually, and asked, “Hm? Whadjousay?”
“This weather,” she answered. “They call this ‘balmy’ weather.”
I cleared my throat and agreed.
