Amy and I began Valentine's Day in a room full of twinkletoed Cubans.
After watching the Portland Winterhawks brawl their way to a simple victory, we wandered to Amy's apartment, satisfied that our Saturday could have ended at that exact point. A good enough day.
But Amy is tutoring a beautiful young woman from Chile, and this beautiful young woman was throwing a party up the street.
So I flipped a coin.
I slapped it onto the back of my hand and declared. "tails, we stay home" moments before Amy stretched on the couch, yawned, and said, "we really should go."
I was expecting as much.
Veronica lives with roommates on the entire upper floor of a turn-of-the century house-turned-apartment-building.
In one room, a crowd of people mixed drinks with their metaphors, laughed in several languages, and kissed the necks of strangers.
The hallway coming straight from this room was filled with people seeking moderate silence.
The hallway led to a room filled with the aforementioned Cubans and their dates, everyone sidestepping to this or that Latin rhythm.
As Amy and I are taking a Salsa class (where we are also taught to favor one foot for the Cumbia, and where we walk happily to Meringue), we spent the good part of the evening practicing in this room.
And half an hour into Valentine's Day, we decided to head home.
After dancing one more.
