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writegirl@altavista.com
Kent!!
The blisters on my feet are just starting to heal. I pranced around New ‘O in long hippiegirl gauze skirts tucking the hem into the waistline to expose my legs to the sun. What a helluva tan I now have! Thank God I had enough foresight in my tequila stupor to wear my bikini top so I don’t have a weird T-shirt tan.
Wish I had been as brainfirst about my feet! ...bare feet torn raw by the cement sidewalks, for what? A moment thinking I was a 70s teenager? What a goof I can be.
Actually my thinking, regarding the shoes/no shoes dilemma, went something like this:if Kent and I will be drunk every moment of Mardi Gras why the hell do I have to keep track of shoes? or even panties for that matter?
I slogged through piles of half-rotted puke and puddles of beer, or was that piss?
Too bad we drank so much we couldn’t dig on the Cajun-style food that is New ‘O, another year?
Thank you baby for hauling my ass down the Mississippi river! At least we heard some music. Didn't we?
Boo
P.S. Exactly how many times did I flash my tits? I have 67 strings of cheap beads!!!! And what did I do to get the fancy ones with peace symbols and elaborate crawfish charms. Egads