J was most pissed at me for getting us arrested. Our fake names turned out to belong to people who actually frequented the underground poker den / brothel that we were attempting to have a good time in. It was quite frankly, a waste of wigs, a waste of make up, and a general waste of a perfectly well thought out evening. But she was cheered to see that my mug shot was not nearly as pretty as hers.
It was implied that we were prostitutes. Which, was understandable, given that we were flashing our legs at passers by. but not a situation we could easily explain our way out of. But I just reminded J of when we were kids, and the awful things she made me do. So in my mind we were even.
And the time she told me that the dog I was standing next to was actually a werewolf and that the only way I would not be eaten was to sing the entire John Lennon version of the song, ‘Imagine’ – with no errors. She took the photo while I awaited my inevitable death.
So… can anyone blame me for taking us out on the town dressed like hookers for a good time? And can anyone blame me for finding our arrest most entertaining?