Granny James fondly called me Sally when I was a little girl. I never did ask her why. And I'll never know for sure as she died when I was twenty. Those weren't questions I pondered in my youth but I do now. Whatever the reason, I'm glad that she did. It makes the words, 'Ride, Sally, Ride' more personal for me. Whenever I hear the song 'Mustang Sally', I am reminded to be a bit of a dare devil, to let go of my inhibitions (just a little at least) and to seize the moment.M's company hosts a year-end extravaganza gala. We pay $25 a head for the opportunity to put on our glad rags, enjoy a four course meal, be entertained by a band, and dance the night away. It's a popular annual occasion with 1,500 guests when we attended our first one in 2006. M and I enjoy dancing far more than we are actually any good at it. But give us a half decent beat and we'll happily grace the dance floor, provided there are enough other patrons to offer us some degree of camouflage.
During one of the songs that evening, the band announced that someone would go around the dance floor to get some people up on the stage to help with the next song. I didn't exit the dance floor quickly as I am prone to do. The floor was packed and I anticipated that the odds were slim that they would pick on me. What I didn't notice, while we danced, was M catch the eye of the recruiter, put his hands high in the air and point at me. I caught his devious plan just seconds before I felt hands on my shoulders to haul me off up on to the stage.
I knew that there were two, well probably three, things I could do. Get in a huff and leave the stage; go through with it as best as I could and then let my husband have it when I was done or just live the moment and love it. Approaching forty at the time, I thought it better to embrace adventure and wisely chose the third option.
Just as well, as I was positioned front and centre accompanying the lead singer! I told him I couldn't sing. Don't worry; just fake it was the response. The song was 'Mustang Sally'. I belted out each 'ride, Sally, ride' of the chorus with the lead singer or at least appeared to. While he sang the other components of the song, I danced.
M and a handful of his colleagues gathered at the bottom of the stage pretending to be wild fans. I was embarrassed and loving it. For one song I was a rock star. When I got off the stage one of M's colleagues ran up and asked for my autograph. All I wanted was to ride around in the fun of the moment. At some stage I was going to have to slow my mustang down and get my feet back on the ground. But it wasn't going to happen that evening, it was all far too liberating.
Now I can't hear the song without releasing my inhibitions a touch and embracing the moment (see The Run of the Pinks, October 2009). In my forties, I am discovering and determining for myself what signifies being a woman. It's a great ride.
