Saturday night I went to go see my old friend Laura Etling perform with her band, Soul Provider. They’re a 12-piece gang of funk that plays ’60s and ’70s soul. It was good. Really good.

My date for the evening was my hoop. As I walked down the street towards the bar, two scruffy guys with accents called me out.

“You with the hoop! Where’s the party? We want to go where you’re going.” I explained that I was heading into the bar.

“Is it going to be good?” one of them asked me.

“Dunno,” I said. “I’ve never been to this bar or seen this band. All I know is that a friend of mine is singing there, and she’s this freckly white girl who’s sounded like an enormous black woman since she was 12 years old. I think hearing those pipes is WELL worth $7.”

They were sold, and in we went.

The place was packed to the rafters though, so my hoop just rested against a wall for the first set. It was a great show, but wow: when did Fremont solidify its reputation as the destination for all the recently graduated UW greek system kids? Wow. So many fresh young professionals jingling the keys to their white Jettas and Wranglers.

During intermission, one of the guys who’d followed me into the bar asked me to hoop.

“There’s absolutely no room,” I shrugged. “I don’t like to force people off the dancefloor — it’s rude.”

“I’ll make room!” he insisted, explaining “You’ll be offering these people a little entertainment” as he shooed them out of the way. Now, I’m not one to demand an audience, but if someone else is doing the demanding for me…well, the ol’ musical theater jazz hands come out of the pockets and I’m a whore for the spotlight.

So, I hooped. The drunk people loved it, especially when I almost broke a hanging light trying to do a vertical move. Whenever an extra drunk person bumped into my hoop, people would boo and the drunkard would be shamed off into a corner somewhere.

I took a break from the excitement and paused to sip someone else’s drink. A guy approached me and said, “Has anyone ever proposed to you when you’re doing that? Because I am about to.”

“I’m already engaged,” I smiled. “But thank you.”

(We’re aiming for August.)