Slave to Love

I had a dream the other night that I was in a bar, and the guy next to me looked a lot like Billy Ocean.

"You know, you look a lot like Billy Ocean," I said.

"That's because I am," he said.

A juvenile delinquent at the juke box turned on Bryan Ferry or Roxy Music's (I can never remember which) "Slave to Love".

"Wanna dance," I said.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said.

We slow danced. It felt like the final dance at the prom, where the geeky Anthony Michael Hall type finally gets to dance with the Molly Ringwald he pined over for the bulk of the movie-- only I was dancing with Billy Ocean, and I'd never pined over him.

The next day I was with Mads at McDonald's, and the same song was playing above us. I told him about my dream.

"Dude," he said, "you're totally gay."

"I'm totally not. Besides, you read your horoscope. That's gayer."

"I did that once... I was just curious... whatever... you gonna finish your fries?"

"Um hmm."