AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER
Met up with friends during the taping of Philebrity.tv's first talk show this evening. I was chatting with 215 Festival partner-in-crime and friend Mary about the Hodgman event and the dance party that followed. It turns out I missed a bit of excitement after I'd had my fill of dancing, drinking and shameless flirting. Apparently one of the women with whom I was getting down in a particularly Philadelphian fashion decided to sit down and cool her weave. She proceeded to cross her legs, whereupon a handgun fell out of her black cowboy boot. Not a dainty ladygun, mind you: a big, fat shiny glock. From what I understand, she did what any true lady would do in such a situation: she discreetly tucked it back in, and continued dancing.

If I knew I was carrying on with an armed woman, I might have bought her a drink. Pity her wardrobe malfunction didn't happen while we were dancing together: I might have taken out my kerchief, handed her piece back to her, and clinked it with my gin and tonic--preferably without blowing off my toes. Stuff of legend, that: the sort of thing friends would recount over drinks twenty years from now. Stillborn folklore is a damn sad thing, isn't it?

Have to say she was a good dancer, though.

~W