Becky and I were wearing giant sparkly blue shirts doing the hand jive in the back corner of a swanky Manhattan restaurant when the extent of our coolness became very, very clear Saturday night.
We decided to go the non-traditional route for Halloween (rather than returning to our roots -- the Infamous Devil and Cat Fiasco of 2002 in which I ended up throwing up on myself on the cab ride home and she went home with a hairless, eyelashless freak... and that wasn't a costume). So we found these giant sequined blue shirts at a thrift shop, sprayed our hair blue and decided to be toothpaste. Think about it... think... think... yes. Crest.
So we traipsed through the city in our big sparkly blue shirts and made our way into the restaurant where someone we kind of know was having a birthday/Halloween party. She had rented out a room in a posh restaurant on 57th Street and we figured it couldn't be all that bad.
We walked in, being toothpaste, and found everyone else in traditional Halloween attire (sexy cat, sexy tiger, sexy Alice in Wonderland, sexy fill-in-the-blank, etc., etc., etc.). So we figured the drunker we were, the better -- but after the first gin and tonic set me back $11 plus tip we realized we probably should have pregamed.
After talking to a few different people (one of whom asked Becky why she didn't just find a big strong man to support her financially), it happened.
We were toothpaste sitting in the back corner of the room, eating cake and doing the hand jive. And the answer to your inevitable follow-up questions is no. No, the hand jive song wasn't playing. And no, no one else was doing the hand jive. We just suddenly started doing the hand jive for no apparent reason. We're not sure why ourselves.
We left soon afterwards, changed out of our toothpaste and finished off the night at a sports bar with the final innings of Game 3.
The impending Pimp and Ho Adventure of 2008's gonna have nothin' on last Saturday...
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