The Girl in the Party Dress

When I'm being a sanctimonious curmudgeon, which probably occurs more often than is required by circumstances, I tell twentysomethings that the difference between drinking in my day and the way young folks do it today is that in my day, we didn't break stuff when we were, uh, overserved. Hearts excepted, of course.

Speaking of overserved, Facebook friends have already seen this photo from my immediate post-college years:

Yes, I spent those years as a dyed-in-the-wool middle American, doing things like joining the Jaycees, buying a house, and spending time in a cheap motel, wearing a tuxedo, with an attractive woman in a party dress.

Here is the follow up photo:

I am about to lose whatever scant amount of virtue I had.  My tie is undone. In about a nanosecond I will be yelling at the photographer to call 911. Even so, there is no way am I going to spill bourbon from that cheesy plastic Best Western tumbler, previously sanitized for my protection. Like every 110% Wahoo in a rented tuxedo, I don't think I've had enough to drink. Liquor may be quicker, but I'm sure that I'm thinking that it's not quick enough.

And in case you were wondering, no, I didn't call the next day. Not the girl in the party dress, nor the other two guys in tuxedos (one of whose surname I can't even remember), nor the other woman, in a party dress of her own. There wasn't any need to call. They were all right there, looking just as disheveled as I was--maybe even worse--all in a agreement that we had a helluva good time.

I still have, and wear, the shoes (black Alden oxfords) I bought at Bostonian, Ltd. to wear to that event. Classic footwear, like good party photos, never goes out of style.