Quinceañera Revelations

This past weekend I had the absolute pleasure of singing at a local quinceañera. { It was particularly special as I was able to sing Ave Maria for the first time not with an organ but with a guitar. So that’s cool. Less you only like organs.} Later as we made our way into the after party bash, our tiny band really tore it up late into the night. As I stood out there on the dance floor, it hit me.

I was the only white girl.

On the floor.

You know what that means?

You embrace it.

Because there’s no trying to hide it.

Because you can’t.

Because hips don’t lie.

Any who, so I’m out there, in my only slightly-better-than-casual gown, wearing my Birkenstocks because I’m an owner of life, dancing across from the Dean of my school as we all hold glow sticks and flashing foam rods, and I say to myself, what a wonderful world.

But really.

How truly it is.

{The featured photo was snapped at this quince — it shows one of the coolest bros in all of Benque. If you’re reading this and you happen to pop on down to Belize, you ought to definitely meet this one.}

Only in the missions.

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