I believe we’d just pulled up in front of a very posh home in a very posh neighborhood to attend Miss Spectacular’s bridal shower, Gentle Reader, and all three of us were a little intimidated. We were late, we were outclassed, there would be a wave of heteronormativity as soon as we entered the door, and even the bride only knew a handful of the people there. Boldly, we approached the manse.
All eyes were on us as we entered in – but luckily, the bride was near the door and greeted us warmly. She was radiant, of course, as only a bride-to-be can be –
– and Ms. Capere, Mr. Darling and I clung close to her side. Miss Spectacular’s mother and sister, L and M, were nearby, and M was dispatched to bring mimosas to those of us who wanted them. Meanwhile, we all played an introduction/ice-breaking game. Then it was time to mingle.
By mingle, of course, Darling and I meant escape to smoke and take a selfie.
We spent about two hours there, huddling together in the kitchen, waiting for Spectacular to have a few minutes – and when she did have them, she gave them to us – but of course she was busy meeting her future extended family. When the clock chimed three, we took our leave and returned to Seattle, to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
Now Darling, as a go-go dancer, obviously had to consider Pride a work-weekend, and needed a Disco-Nap to get through the night. After hiking the luggage into his apartment, Capere and I went to get a cocktail or two for an hour or two, and left him to it.
We met a very nice, very cute, very straight bartender who, though his bar was only a block or two from the hill, was oblivious to the fact of Pride and was fascinated by it. We filled him in, inviting him to come dancing with us at the Mercury, and eventually wandered back to Darling’s. Though low on time, he did our hair* – and off to Pony we went.
I had packed a number of outfits for Pride, and planned to wear an outfit that night that is best described with one word: Grandmama. It was flapper-esque, a white fox-fur stole, a feathery-bejewelled turban – the works. Of course, I slipped a flask into the top of my tights before we slipped into the night, but after dropping Darling off at work, Ms. Capere and I were both nervous of it. We polished it off surreptitiously as quickly as possible, in case we had to abandon it at some point on entry somewhere.
We tried to hit the Wild Rose, the only lesbian bar on Capitol Hill, but their twenty-dollar Pride cover-charge put us off. It was the same at a few different places. As loathe as we were to get to the Merc quite so early, we found ourselves there before ten.
And something strange happened there, that night. The joy just seemed to drain out of both Ms. Capere and myself. We stayed for a little bit – Capere danced a little, I tried to make a little conversation here and there – but nothing doing. We returned to Darling’s, disappointed, before midnight, waking and irritating his roommate. At that point, we decided that we had better just go home.