MY SINVERGüENZA

Back in the day!

    Every girl needs a sinvergüenza in her life. I have one, and he’s fabulous. My sinvergüenza is a five-foot-five dynamo of a man, who stands six-feet-tall by attitude alone. On the dance floor, he can twirl a chica like me, who stands five-feet-eleven in heels, without missing a step.

     I met my sinvergüenza years ago through mutual friends. I was single, and he was married. But a little thing like marriage could never hold him down. My sinvergüenza hit the clubs every weekend, strutting his stuff like a prize rooster. He treated me like his number one hen, even though our relationship always was, and still is, strictly platonic. In fact, we became such close friends that some people wrongly suspected I was his mistress. He often scared off  single men who may have been interested in me. However, since finding future partners in nightclubs is not highly recommended, I’m not sure this was an entirely bad thing.

     We did have a good time, my sinvergüenza and I. One time in particular comes to mind. Our group was partying at a club called “The Juke Box.” Somewhere, around midnight, the DJ called for a male and a female volunteer to participate in some late night shenanigans. My sinvergüenza’s hand shot up. The next thing I knew, he was pulling me toward the DJ booth. The DJ instructed me to climb atop the bar in front of his cage. After a few pushes, I was standing well above the crowd in a miniskirt. After the cheers had waned, the DJ instructed my sinvergüeza to lie horizontal on the bar stomach up. Then he instructed me to lie on top of him. The crowd went wild. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” they chanted.
     
     Fueled by the cheers, and because I didn’t know what else I could do at that point, I propped myself above my sinvergüenza, in a male push-up position. The crowd cheered louder. With my heart pumping wildly in my chest, I slowly lowered my body closer and closer to my sinvergüenza. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline pumping though my veins, or the idea that I was about to mount my sinvergüenza in front of five-hunderd people, but just before my chest reached his chest, I pushed myself back up. Then I proceeded to do ten perfect male push-ups over top of him, while the crowd counted. 


     Fortunately, the DJ interrupted the show before my arms gave out. I returned to vertical and curtsied.  The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The DJ shook our hands and gave each of us thirty-five dollars each for our impromptu performance. 


     Later that night my sinvergüenza and I stopped for an early morning breakfast at Waffle House to celebrate. After an omelet and a few laughs, we parted ways. I went home alone as usual.

      Eventually time moved forward, I married, and my sinvergüenza divorced and moved overseas. Though, we had kept up through a social web site, we had not seen each other in person for fourteen years. That was until last week, when we met for lunch.

    We laughed and joked about old times. He amused me with the story of how he met his current wife. He was at a dance with his live-in girlfriend, when from across the room, he spotted a beautiful stranger dancing like an angel. He excused himself, telling his girlfriend that he was going to chat with an old friend. He bee-lined it across the floor and asked the beautiful stranger to dance. Five dances later, he returned to his girlfriend, with the phone number of the beautiful stranger in his pocket. To make a long story short, he dumped the girlfriend soon afterwards and took up with his soon to be wife. 

      Through his brutal honesty, my sinvergüenza has opened my eyes to the ways of brazen men. Nonetheless, I am happy to have him in my life. Not many men have the savoir faire to pull off the kind of stunts my sinvergüenza does and still be endearing. Yes, men like him are few and far between. And though at present he is happily married, I still take caution when I lean in to give him our customary kiss on the cheek goodbye. If I let my guard down, he is likely to plant a big one smack on my lips.  

     Oh, you are still not sure what is the meaning of the word sinvergüenza. For the purpose of my story, cheeky devil about sums it up.

MY FRIEND

The Twins

     Her given name was Belinda, which means beautiful, and anyone who was fortunate enough to have crossed her path, knows that she lived up to that name. She had an hourglass figure, hair like Gloria Estefan, and large, mahogany eyes that lit up like moonbeams when she was happy. But 'Linda’s' beauty was not only on the surface, it seeped into her pores and wound itself tightly around her inner core. She was a kind, loyal, devoted, and generous friend, who came into my life, and left me with a plethora of marvelous memories that I will forever cherish.

Me as Linda on Halloween

     Linda and I connected over our love of dance. In fact, we met on a Country Line Dance Team in the mid ‘90s, while strutting our stuff to the tunes of the hot, new, country music star Alan Jackson, et al. We became BFF’s, almost inseparable.  Soon we branched out, allying ourselves with two other girls to create “The Mambo Girls”—a Latin dance team. When we weren’t on stage, we could be found in the center of the dance floor at one our favorite clubs. Many nights Linda and I suited up in matching dresses and we would dance into the wee hours. We earned us the nickname “The Twins,” in some circles, which was ironic since we were opposites, with my eyes and hair as light as hers were dark.

    Over the years, Linda became more than a friend, she became a sister to me. We vacationed together with our kids. We celebrated our birthdays together—we were both born in August. We shared hopes and dreams and even a few tears. Unfortunately, life got in the way, and we drifted apart.
     I married. Linda did the same, moving three states away.

Three of The Mambo Girls reunite Me, Linda, and Elsa

     For almost ten years, we never spoke, though, I'd heard tidbits about her life through mutual friends. Then, in summer of 2009, both older and wiser, we reunited. For the remainder of the year, we worked on rebuilding the friendship we had so recklessly tossed away. We vowed to get together every summer, for no less than a week. Linda was back in my life, and life was good.      

     I wish I could end this story differently, but this story is real life, not fiction. The reunion of our second summer was never to be. Linda passed away just over a year ago. Many of  us were unaware she was sick, but that was Linda style. She was a proud, strong, Puertorriquena, and she dealt with her problems head on and in a private manner. Linda would not have wanted me or any of her friends to pity her. And I do not pity her, but I do miss her. I only hope that while she was here, I touched her life as much as she has touched mine.

     Happy Birthday Linda! I will look for you tonight dancing amongst the stars.

Your friend Sue.

Linda's pride and joy. She inherited her
mom's eyes and her smile.