Mardi Gras.
My fancy dress was more of my own, fashionable sense whilst at Mardi Gras, New Orleans 2003.

A fucking wedding dress...All the other blokes wore matching yellow dresses, but, those didn't really suit me and to the envy of all women, fit nicely in to a size 10uk wedding dress...

That was all well and good, it fit nicely, went well with the clear plastic high heels, but had nowhere to put the cash I was carrying. Was quite handy though to wear brogs/kacks/underwears.

That was fine.

Travelling home wasn't. I was pissed. Got back to the bus - can't find clothes.

So, I go to bed in the dress.

Wake up in Texas. For a toilet break. I just think it is a rest stop. It is. For fucking truckers. At 3 fucking o'clock in the bastard morning.

Well, I needed to go...So, fuck it...I walk in, go to the toilets and there is one cubicle. Taken. Two urinals. One free. One not occupied. Indeed, it is actually 6ft 7 brickshithouseredneckmotherfucker definately NOT free.

Fuck it I think. Hike up the dress. I know the guy is looking over me. No stage fright, but this little voice going "you'll never get out of here ALIVE".

He leaves.

I finish.

I come out to see 6 similar truckerfuckers.

"Shee-yat...That fuckers wearin' a fuckin' dress"

"Are you wearin' that for muh-ne?" I get asked.

"No, just been to Mardi Gras" I reply.

"What the fucks that?"

"Only the biggest party IN THE WORLD" I say, pick up the hem of the dress and skip out of the truck stop, across the courtyard and get on the bus to see everyone staring at me.

Disbelief all around, but the next guy on the bus told us that the only reason I didn't get raped/stabbed/killed was that I was too blatant and bold that they didn't know how to react.

Thank God for beer.
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Sun 15 Jan 2006, 1:58, Reply)