The Wet Spot

On a dark, desert highway. No…just kidding.

On a dark, living room carpet, a cool spot at my feet, the warm realization arose that I had stepped on a pretty decent-sized spot of German shepherd urine. Danced, that is. Or something akin to danced, but probably more like non-rhythmic jumping. Whatever it was, my foot landed in dog pee. And it was gross. My sock grew heavy – but at least I’d had one on. You know what? Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing, after all. No way was I carrying that thing home. 

Just, ugh. 

But there was this 8-track playing Hotel California. That’s what my friends and I had been dancing to on that sunny afternoon in 1979. We may have just previously been listening to the soundtrack of Annie. Or worse, The Muppet Movie. Who knows? Doesn’t matter. At the precise moment my foot landed in the wet spot, Hotel California was playing. 

I spent the next 30 years trying to figure out what a colita was. I still don’t know. Anyway, whatever it is, I don’t care. It’s probably a tree or something. The song was important enough that I carry this particular memory with me on my A-list of key childhood moments, not-so-tucked-away in my brain. It was just that damn good.

So, thanks, Mark, for having the Hotel California 8-track. And thanks, Yolanda and Helen, for suggesting we “dance” that day. And thanks, Glenn Frey, for co-writing cool songs about mysterious things like colitas.

Oh, and thanks, Brandy, for the wet spot.