Post the Fifty-Ninth:Which Contains A Dinner-Party In A Cemetery

UPDATE: A special thank you goes out to Miss Sarah Spectacular, who provided correct pictures, and accuracy. Cheers, darling.

Gentle Reader, this story happened years and years ago, but it was the foundation for what became the Fabulous Party Association, which, sadly, is defunct.

After graduating high-school, Miss S. and I were looking for ways to keep our circle of friends together. While discussing this at a small local cemetery*, we hit on the idea of hosting dinner parties on the equinoxes. Our first was to be on the autumn one, in late September. As we were both still living at home, the venue for such a venture presented a bit of a quandary. Since the cemetery was close to Miss S.’s house and always abandoned†, we decided to hold it there.

Rosedale

Actual photo of the sign. Thanks, Google!

Invitations sent and menu decided, we had little to do but wait. We decided upon some games as entertainment. Our primary problem was now transportation; I was the only one of our guests who drove, and my Chevy Blazer (named Prudence, despite the fact that I never exhibited that virtue while driving her) could only carry three passengers. There was nothing else for it; I would have to ferry our passengers to and from.

When the day at last arrived, I escorted first Miss Spectacular, to set up our picnic, and then our guests to the cemetery. We tried to raise the ghost of Sierra N. Foster, who had a plinth in the middle of a group of plain headstones. All went well until the three-legged race, when the team of sisters fell, leaving one of them with a turned ankle. It was time to start packing up, and get our guests home.

????????????????????????????????

Google was less helpful in finding Sierra N. Foster; Sarah was very helpful, however. I don’t own these photos; please don’t sue me.

It was still light when I took the first set of guests home. However, it was midnight by the time I returned to fetch the rest, and the girls had drifted off to sleep. A few of them were terrified out of their wits when I shook them awake – it’s a little unsettling to be woken from a sound sleep at midnight in a graveyard, apparently.

**********

*Clearly, we were misfit teenagers. Misfit teenagers always hang out in cemeteries. Obviously.

Not Always, as it turns out. One evening, during the planning stages of this little féte, Miss Spectacular and I went to the graveyard to play a game called “Psychic Circle” (which is absolutely laughable, whether or not you’re into that sort of thing), where we encountered a tent in which people were discernably having sex. By all means, have sex in a graveyard, but a tent really takes away from the experience, wouldn’t you think?

 

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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