Ms. Capere and I were beyond thrilled for Pride. She had just returned from Namibia, and we’d spent an evening over wine, chatting about our Pride plans, and they fell into line like so many ducks in a row. I was to stay at her place on Friday, we’d pick Mr. Darling up Saturday morning and run out to Miss Spectacular’s bridal shower (“Pridal shower!” as I kept insisting. “Vital Tower!” was Ms. Capere’s reply.) We’d then hit one of the street parties on the Hill that night while Darling danced, maybe go to our trusty underground goth club, the Mercury, sleep, brunch, parade, and then hit the festival and the parties all night long.
The day before I was to meet up with Capere, I happened to jokingly consult a magic 8-ball at the store where I purchased my necessary boat shoes. I ought to have listened to its advice.
Will we have a good time at Pride?
The next day, after we’d repaired to the Capererhardt home, Tranquility Base, we set in to watch a queer-themed movie for Pride Eve. Over cocktails made from exotic Amarula Cream, which Capere had brought back from Africa, we pondered the options. We wanted to see something traditional, that we’d grown up on: Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, maybe, or To Wong Foo: Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar – or even The Birdcage. Both Netflix and HuluPlus were disappointing in their pride-month LGBT coverage. We finally settled on Jeffrey, which is supposed to be a classic.
It was painful, in a way that can only be described by the phrase cater-waiter hoe-down-themed orgy. Patrick Stewart and Mother Theresa were the film’s saving graces. We went to bed, so as to be up bright and early, to zoom up to fetch Mr. Darling in the morning.
We were running late, and we still hadn’t had our coffee when we hit the road the next morning. Swiftly grabbing some drive-through Starbucks, Capere and I promptly ran into traffic, giving us the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart. We finally fought our way off of the freeway to Darling’s building – which he had to dash back into thrice for various forgotten accoutrements. We were now on our way to Tukwila.
Wait, Tukwila? No! Tacoma!
Were we sure? No, we were not.
Between some of us forgetting to RSVP, to losing our invitations, and all of us wanting to stop somewhere for wine/card/gift, and all of us nervous about this bridal shower, we were certain we knew how to grown-up.
Miss Spectacular has been a good friend for years and years to all of us; though many of us have attended countless weddings over the years, this was the first shower we’d been invited to. As we pulled into the drive of a posh house in a posh neighborhood overlooking the Puget Sound, we had no idea what we were in for.
To be continued… Part II on Friday!