It's Polka Time!

When I was a kid, every Sunday morning my dad turned on the most obnoxious polka music one can imagine. He ran through the house, yelling, "It's polka time!" And he and my mom would dance in the living room. I'm not sure whether they enjoyed the music or the vociferous annoyance of their teenage kids more, but at any rate, I promised myself I would NEVER get involved with anything as inane as the polka....

We are involved with a group of Expats who have a gift for finding things to do on this island that confound all expectation about what is available in Southeast Asia. Last night was Oktoberfest. They found a microbrewery here that was celebrating with bier and bratwurst and the joy of dancing along with a live band. A polka band. You really have not lived until you have seen a bunch of 70ish Singaporean men dressed in lederhosen playing polka music. At any rate the bier was flowing, the Yaegermeister shots were coming around, the music was blaring and I still maintain, after all these years, that if you discount the Chicken Dance there are exactly 3 different polka songs. All equally irritating. Although they do go down more easily after a couple of Steins.

So, this post is for dad. You always said never to say never. I did, and now look. God, apparently in an effort to prove you right, plunked me halfway around the globe, dancing the Polka with my husband and a bunch of newly-made friends and having a shamefully good time. I certainly hope you are satisfied...