But last night I put away an unholy amount of Mexican food, and this morning it is weighing. me. down. So here's a procrastinatory posting, brought to you by my lactose-intolerant stomach and the good people at Kraft Foods. Behold, the power of cheese:
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My friends and I partied like college girls last night with a potluck dinner and clothing swap at M's Dupont Circle apartment. An eavesdropper might have been excited, disgusted, intrigued or puzzled; For sure he would have gotten the wrong impression.
If you'd peeked through the window of M's place, nestled in the heart of D.C.'s gayest neighborhood, you'd have seen five (reasonably hot, if I may say so) women in only their skivvies, giggling and tossing clothes in the air.
And if you'd listened through the door you'd have overheard not just the requisite Girls' Night sex talk ("Oh, I didn't know Price Club sells Astroglide." / "Really? Five times? Hand me that pen, I'm taking notes."), but also selected readings from M's library of lesbian erotica (dramatized by K, inspired by Barry White).
It was a fun night. But not in the way you'd think.
(faces have been covered to protect the goofy)