Last night, after we found out that Pageant Barbie has indeed won a pageant,

(Pause for a moment of silence or applause. Whichever you prefer.)

we called Skinny Barbie with the joyous news, and she promptly requested that we come over. To her drunk boyfriend's-niece's-house IN THE MIDDLE OF GOD FORSAKEN NOWHERE.

Since the three of us were more keyed up and excited than we should have been at such a late and uneartly hour, we were talking in very high pitched tones, waving our hands like air-traffic controllers and rolling our eyes about in our heads when we talked. Three of us. All at once.

Drunk Boyfriend had a Drunk Brother over. What I find so incredibly charming about drunk people is their innate ability to be as subtle as a thunder storm. Something I relate to, quite well. So, the Drunk Brother was trying to make beauty pageant jokes while the Drunk Boyfriend was RUFFLING OUR HAIR. Like we were five years old. Like small kindergarten children. Like what you do to small people who do not reach your waist in height. I was not complaining since he is one of those incredibly well-natured drunk people, who is content to sit on the deck in sub-freezing weather, listening to John Mayer and drunkenly strumming his guitar. Rather than suggesting we all go hot-tubbing naked together. But that is another story. For another day.

We chatted about and Princess had her butt stared at for a bit and all in all it was quite uneventful, but, it did lead me to the very deep and serious thought that our Celebration Rituals could use a little improvement.



Skinny dipping, anyone?