It's the fall of 1994. One of Doug's old friends is getting married
and she asks our band to play at her wedding reception.|
Well, it's not really a wedding reception, exactly; after the real wedding reception, they're planning on ditching all the old folks and having a party back at the groom's old fraternity. They're calling it a "fertility ritual." The dress code is formal crossdress.
OK, fine, we're playing there, we should abide by the dress code too (except for Bill, our drummer, who is too embarrassed). I wear a loose orangish dress with lots of fish borrowed especially for the occasion from an ex-girlfriend. JB, our bass player, is a big guy, but a friend of his has just had a baby and lends him one of his wife's maternity dresses, which JB can just barely stuff himself into. Have you ever seen a bear in a dress? I have, now.
But Doug is the best dressed of all. A friend of his, having heard of the occasion, has found a slinky little black thing and has sent it all the way from Chicago. Doug looks stunning.
So we arrive early, we set up, we change into our dresses, and await the party. Everyone looks pretty funny (especially the groom in his bride's wedding dress), and much hilarity is had. Doug is laughing at something when some newly arrived guy walks up to him, and a collective gasp is heard throughout the crowd.
For this other guy is wearing the exact same dress as Doug.