I’ll set the scene.
The four-foot long windowsill in the spare bedroom of my childhood house.
Me, in all my six-year-old crimped hair glory, dressed in a “Get In Shape Girl” leotard complete with leg warmers, bangle bracelets and my own personal touch—two foam balls shoved into my shirt to emulate cleavage, a practice I may or may not still employ today.
“I know you like what you see.”
An enormously bulky boom box was situated in the corner. After visualizing my upcoming performance, I would adjust my jelly sandals and run to it, hitting “play” before quickly sprinting back to the stage mark on the windowsill before the music started.
“And if you want more, if you want more, more, more, more.” [Read more...]