Certain Sort, Hot Spring Edition
The unofficial theme of last night's Certain Sort was cleavage.
As themes go, I have to say, it's one of my favourites.
Though I instigated it, I had no intention of participating. I had shoes to wear, people, hot high-heeled hot pink sexy hot foot-flattering shoes. And the clothes I had to go with them were not cleavage clothes.
"Whaddaya mean you're not wearing cleavage?" Shelley asked when she called for a fashion consult. "It was your suggestion!"
"But my shoes!" I said. "I'll be all leg, does that count?"
"Oh, well then."
The second unofficial theme was Holy Fuck, It's Spring.
Blood was running quick, I'd have to say. As one of the organizers, I was driving our DJ, CPI home, so I was sober the whole night, watching the running as it whirled faster and faster as the evening progressed.
Just the feeling, no fireworks, a slow start, no one big rush of people, the room filling steadily. Relaxed standing, some drinking, some dancing and the energy, getting bigger and looser and more elastic.
Maybe it was the porn we were screening? Maybe we were just all frantically shedding our winter skin.
Megan, as a first-hand witness, I must correct the erroneous impression you generated for your reading public: you most certainly had cleavage last night. (I can write this with certainty as I had to resist the temptation to propose engaging in the "motorboarding" that was going on. Ahem.)
Caught! When I got there, I had no cleavage and wasn't going to, until it was discovered that if I wore my shirt backwards, the cleavage appeared. But after trying to work that in a few different ways, I decided that my readers would probably appreciate a graceful post more than knowing about my cleavage.
Good thing there were witnesses to keep me honest!