What the…? What in the name of all that is good and holy are you doing here? You and your slack, slack jaw had best be getting over to Goodwill or Red White and Blue, or–and goddess, I’d love you for this–Freddy’s to find me full-length formal skirt and a new goddamn corset! I have three balls–count ’em: three!–over the next week, and not a stitch to wear! Now I know how poor Widow Hubbard felt when she opened the door to her empty armoire or pie safe or whatever it was….
You there, the snickering one with the glasses and the tired Urban Outfitters t-shirt: having three balls, whether formal or scrotal, is no laughing matter. Having only one–now that’s a tragedy.
And FYI, if any of you would care to accompany the boyfriend and me to two of these–the Mystic Krewe of Satyricon’s Bal Masque on Sunday or the Radical Faerie Coronation Ball next Wednesday–do let us know. <nellyvoice>I’m sure sssssomething can be…arranged.</nellyvoice>
sturtle [dot] com 