T-Trash B-Bash

Knowing I had a trailer trash birthday bash to attend, I had to leave the pool party early. “Too bad you didn’t wear a t-shirt instead of your swimsuit,” BeCuz said to me as I was heading out the door. “You would have had a sweet farmer’s tan for tonight’s shindig.” Always (middle) classy and always spot on.

I arrived home with enough time to take a shower, apply a temporary tattoo, and don proper attire. All guests were encouraged to dress in accordance to the theme; however, we – Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I – don’t need encouragement to don a costume.

In fact, with the exception of the ‘costume’ ankle monitors we were wearing, we had (on hand) all of the perfect fixings for a white trash bash – regardless of the occasion.

We arrived to find Beaner – the broad whose birthday we were celebrating – with a beer, cigarettes, and what appeared to be a pregnant belly. She nailed it. We also found a lovely fifth wheel accessorized with outdoor lights, lawn chairs, loads of mullets, and a wading pool full of ice and beer.

As the night went on, more great hair and outfits paraded through the trailer court and the light on my costume ankle monitor began to blink. Thus, we poured a little beer out for our homies and called it a night. My mesh muscle tee, denim overall shorts. Mother Trucker ball cap and high-heeled, polka-dot shoes will go back in the box until the next (middle) classy event.