I’m a dag: a nerdy, wordy, bookish kinda gal who spends more time than she should dancing to 80s and 90s pop. (Ahem…thank-goodness-this-blog-is-annonymous!)
One thing I love about being with L, albeit on a rather superficial level, is the fact that he can’t tell the difference between indy-folk-‘local’ music (uber cool) and American-style-big-named pop (not cool). I’m not sure whether this is a cultural or personal thing, but to L, all Western music sounds pretty similar.
This is great news for me because it means that while L is on the computer studying, I can thump out the back of his chair to the likes of ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ blasting from YouTube. And all this without (I think…?!) losing his respect.
Dancing to me is fantastic stress relief. I’m not sure though, how this covert 80s and 90s fetish would go down if I was with a too-cool-for-school-Radiohead-loving guy (with all due love and respect to my friends :)).
L has always been genuine with me, without ever feeling the need to prove himself. Maybe this is all a part of being intimate – attracting and loving each other at our daggiest, rather than impressing each other at our wittiest.
Not that L is daggy. His taste in music is much more meaningful than mine – e.g. Zimbabwean folk songs recounting exchanges between sorcerers and healers (how can Cindy Lauper compete with that?!). And while he puts up with my not-so-groovy moves, he sure as hell draws the line at my not-so-in-tune-tunes:
Me (getting into bed): Caaan you feeeel the looove toniiiight.
L: Stop making noise darling.