"You can stand under my umbrella any f__king time you want."

I love these sorts of nights: when everything is awesome. Just right.

Andy's in the den reading Transition, Stephanie’s getting proposed to in the street, I’m asking Kelly if she wants sauce on her sternum, five us deciding that we’ll open our own gym, Angela’s laughing and falling under the table, Tanya's reading my poem and exclaiming, "You better shut the door!" Caroline’s tugging me over to dance with guys jumping up and down, “Seven millimeters is better than an inch – that’s what I tell the ladies” (and yes, Liz, that is indeed a reference to your poetry!), “This might be awkward, but do you want to dance?” "Yeah, 6,000 miles away - quite the booty call!" “I’ll make love to you like you want me to,” “Did you just say that you love the way I hold you?” “He knows who I be,” “You have to write a story about me someday,” we’re driving with the sunroof open and the windows down at 2 a.m. and the rain has faded – we are laughing and shouting too much for it to hold much sway.

I did not have to struggle for strength tonight; I already had it.