An Evening in Three Acts
Act 1:
I step off a rise and sprain my ankle. Granted, this has happened many times (see: NYE in Venice, anytime I wear heels, etc), but this time is special. As I attempt to wobble back the drinks I promised to Sam, I can see only splotches of red and black. Nearly passing out, I have to be escorted to a table where I look at my hands until colors return to the scene. The band is just okay.
Act 2:
Some guy named Al, who is going to Austin, sees me pee. People should invest in bathroom doors for their fancy houses.
Act 3:
The boy Sam is hitting on asks, “Where did you partner go?” and has to be informed that we’re not lovers. I learn a new term called “lickers,” and think that maybe Sam and I should stop responding to things in unison.
[Edit: Sam says that "As I attempt to wobble back the drinks I promised to Sam" makes her sound like a despotic alcoholic - demanding drinks as I cower in pain and misery. Nothing could be farther from the truth. In reality, the return of the drinks was my desperate act of concentration to keep from blacking out. Apologies to Sam for the slander and for hampering her game with my lesbianess.]
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