waggle

I walked to the market yesterday to pick up some beer. About halfway there, I could see a woman in her yard doing a little light landscaping. She had a wheelbarrow full of wood chips that she was spreading along a row of big stones that bordered her yard. She had her back to me as I approached, or rather, she had her butt to me, because she was hunched over her work until I was about fifteen or twenty feet away. Then she stood up, dusted off her hands and started to dance a little jig. That’s when I could see the white cords coming from her ear buds. She dipped right, dipped left, then waggled her butt before turning to grab another big handful of wood chips from the wheelbarrow. When she caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye, she froze. I could almost see the thought bubbles floating over her head: “Has he been there long enough to see that little dance I did? He has, hasn’t he? Shit, what do I do now?” I had to laugh. Who wouldn’t have? And she laughed, too, and then went back to work, and I kept on walking.