In my pre-teen years, a radio program called “Between the Sheets” ran out of Philadelphia. It was less dirty than it sounds. People could call in and request songs for their significant other, and tell a 20-second-or-so story about why said significant other was the best. Michael is just the best boyfriend ever. He tells me I’m his forever girl. Michael brought me a single red rose today. I just want to tell him how deep my love for him really is. And then the DJ would play “Lady in Red,” which was one of my favorites. I swooned over “Between the Sheets” each night as I went to sleep, the songs piping quietly out of the pink and gray striped boom box on my purple nightstand. I looked forward to bedtime for a few years there, just for the excuse to lay there, listening to Journey and Richard Marx as I daydreamed about my own imaginary boyfriend Michael.
In the true version of my 30-year old life, Michael does not exist, but “Between the Sheets” still does—or at least it kind of does, if you’re riding in the late-night taxi-cabs of Buenos Aries. Every night that I have caught a cab after midnight, I feel as though I am sitting there in the dark with my stuffed animals. It’s nothing but American 80s love songs. Tonight on the way home from a late dinner I heard Foreigner’s “Waiting for a Girl Like You,” Whitesnake’s “Is this Love?” and Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors.” Moral: It’s worth taking a $4 taxi ride just for the nostalgia.