Living in New York City has it's moments of affirming just why one loves it here amoungst the filth and the starlite. The other night I found myself in the company of some performative hipsters. After all the singing and dancing, there was carrying on at an afterparty.
I love an afterparty, in fact I think I live for it.
While bathing in the afterglow of entertainers with some really nice and really expensive drinks,I took in the moment. I particularly liked the fact that my cognac was served in a rather thick, heavy, square shaped glass, and I had asked for cognac on the rocks, causing my hipster friends shriek and recoil in horror, but I don't care, I liked the way it's cold and the square glass made me feel like I was drinking out of a giant, hollowed out ice cube. I was too busy being delicous.
But I digress..
While previously on stage during the performace, one luminary had remarked that his pants were yellow, to which the host of the evening's entertainment replied that the color was now referred to as camel. Now, at the afterparty, my hipster enclave brought up the pants again-I guess everyone loves talking about pants as much as I do.
Soon, it became like playing the game telephone, except it was like playing telephone with Madonna, and you are both drunk. Out of a cloud of smoke appeared Kiki, love her, to call Mr. Yellow Pant out:
"Darling, you have a camel toe!"
His response was an embrace: "A camel toe, I wish!"
It was camel toe envy.