*No frogs were smooched in the making of this story*
A few years ago, I was coupled up with a few friends for a night out on the town. We settled in at a low key bar with minimal patrons. The basement was a vast space with a nice size dance floor, a bar, and a lonely DJ awaiting our arrival (at least in my version of it).
My friends and I requested song after song. The DJ's extensive collection allowed him to grant our every wish. Soon other people started filing in. Among them was Gabe, a guy I'd met at a wedding the year prior. If anyone knew how to start a party, it was Gabe. I knew we were in for a good time.
Gabe initiated a cat walk/ dance competition with the ladies. We.were.fierce. I whipped my Chaka Khan-like hair piece back and forth (and yes, this was before Willow Smith's time). Me, the girls and Gabe danced around each other, creating our own music video. Others joined in. We were having the time of our lives.
I slowed down for a beat, then a Beyonce song came on. I went in full force again. To further enhance my performance, I added a flip of my hair - only there was no hair to speak of. My "piece" was missing. Sacre bleu! Panic stricken, my eyes darted around the basement. I noticed my friend's husband with his buddy in the corner motioning me to come over. Apparently they had been trying to get my attention for a while. They saw my hair slide across the floor, and were holding on to it for safe keeping. Talk about a major wardrobe malfunction!
I've since increased the amount of hair pins I use and decreased the intensity of my head whipping. Lesson learned...
