Third in line

Attended a costume party at The Leaver (the blog artist formerly known as Left Me For Lenny) and QuQueen’s house. Coming up with a costume was difficult for me because I ‘dress up’ on a regular basis, so actually being asked to wear a costume seems a bit out of character for me. After much contemplation, and failing to secure a nude-colored unitard with footsies, I opted for a more simple costume: gangster.  The Leaver and QuQueen had decided to be Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace and needed a finishing touch: Jules Winnfield. Fade to black, literally, and in steps Dr. BJ. Number three in the combo.

We arrived to the party in full costume to find The Leaver wearing only one part of her costume, sideburns. “You guys, you have no idea how busy I’ve been. I haven’t even had time to put on my costume.” An hour or two later, as other guests arrived, The Leaver provided them her costumeless explanation. After a bit of coaxing from the Press (ROFL’s costume), The Leaver donned her costume for a photo. Less than 30 minutes later, The Leaver was out of costume, sideburns excluded, again. “What’s going on here?” Dr. BJ asked. “We’re in phase two of our costumes,” The Leaver replied. “Didn’t you bring a t-shirt?” The third person is always the last one to find out about phase two.

As the night came to a close I was speaking with FatGirl about relationships. I haven’t been in one for a while and, with the exception of the little appointment with my gynecologist and her intern (which kind of made it like a double date), me and my DeDe are like born-again virgins. “I’d have sex with you, but you’re third in line,” FatGirl said to consule me. “Right,” I retorted. “I slept in your bed and you didn’t even touch me. And what do you mean ‘third in line’?” “Third in line. I like dick, ass and then titties. See, third in line.” They say good things come in threes, but this is one third come I may respectfully decline.