In the past walking up Grafton Street at Christmas time saw the twinkle flicker into my eye as I became transfixed by the Christmas lights flooding the street. This weekend that glint was the reflection of the flirting eyes that met mine on the ass freezing stroll from dinner to the nearest watering hole.
Distracted by the click clacking of my oh-so-fabulous new heels I was whisked away to my own little land of Oz. The light banter with friends quickly became the backdrop to all the drama going on around us as the yellow brick road stretched out ahead.
The crying girlfriend swatting away her boyfriend’s touch. The elderly couple linking for warmth. The couple whose eyes were wandering in different directions. The beer-filled stags from Scotland. The group of guys fanning their feathers hoping the object of their affections would chose them. The middle aged couple dancing next to the street performer. The drunk. The sober. The lonely. The loud. The quiet. The happy. The sad. The young. The old…and me.
I was walking with four great friends, tummies warmed by the incredible meal we just ate. Fingers tingling from the cold. Smiles brimming from ear to ear after catching up on the weeks, even months we’d missed in eachother’s lives. This night was about us, for us. We talked. We listened. We laughed. We cried.
As I stared at the road ahead unable to see its end, I strode on through the bitter cold and the pain (beautiful heels come at a price), my phone whistled.
It was a message.
A message full of possibilities.
Lovely post sly scribe.