Up to No Good
While out to dinner with some good friends of Mr. Crabby's on the weekend, I crashed my first private function! While wandering around after our coffee and dessert, we found a new art gallery and decided to take a peek. Unfortunately, we were stopped at the door by a "closed for a private function" sign. Undeterred, I walked right in as though I belonged there. "Come on, come on," I urged them. Perhaps it was the tray upon tray of wine that drew me in.

It sure wasn't the art on display, let me tell you.

I've been to my share of AIDS fundraisers this year, so I was less shocked than the rest of my group to see polaroids of a guy, presumably the artist, grasping his astonishingly large thing. A young, pretty, "neophartist" type approached us eagerly. "Hi! Welcome! Do you know much about his work?"

"Not enough! That's why we're here," I answered.

The young and pretty neophartist went on and on about his vision, his commentary on we don't know what exactly. I did my best to look her in the eye, but with those polaroids on the wall just over her shoulder, well, it was hard. Very, very hard. And did I mention astonishingly large?

We stayed long enough to drink the proffered wine, and to express as much interest as we could muster without blushing, laughing, or looking guilty.