Oh, Gentle Reader! I have such marvelous things to share with you today! Frankly, I’m as giddy as twelve school girls inhaling helium. Oh, my stars! I’m behaving ridiculously.
A week ago last Friday, it was, in fact, a dark and stormy night. I was working in our portable bar, in Paisley Glen*. We were quite busy, as per usual – we’re extremely popular, and known for the generosity of our pours – when into my camp walks an unbearably beautiful redhead, who can’t possibly be old enough to be in my bar; obviously, I carded him immediately. To my surprise, not only is the stone cold fox of age, but his given name is, in fact, Fox.
As we chatted, and I served the other patrons of my establishment, I began to grow very fond of young mister Fox. He’s a devotee of Dionysus, apparently, and quite serious about it.
When, at the stroke of midnight, we heard the first peal of thunder, the heavens burst. I felt no hesitation about handing bartending duties off to my apprentice, and letting my little maenad lead me off into the field; we danced in the rain. The lightning splayed at least once every minute overhead, each flash revealing more revellers, and a sea of canvas and grass. Fox laid me down in the long grass, to kiss me; I made sure that I was looking up, so that I could see the gorgeous young man above me, and the lightning sparking from star to star.
* We obviously can’t sell alcohol, but we happily accept tips and donations. This year, announcing that we were flat broke and showed up with nothing at all; we received a fully stocked bar as a thank you for years of enjoyment. People’s generosity is astounding, sometimes.