The Freak

The freak who appeared last week as Bat Drag and whom I saw walk by in a floor length black chiffon gown yesterday (for once I didn't WANT to take a photo and encourage him to come in) showed up yesterday in a stunning black sequined cocktail dress, vintage Valentino. It interests me that he doesn't wear (or feel the need to wear) a wig and it bothers me that he never has shoes and handbag match.

But so many things bother me these days; matching shoes and belt or bag are really on the bottom of the Bothered By List. That for another day, because I have to go to City Hall this morning, yet again on Palace business, and that is VERY high on The List. City Hall, a bastion of morons, deserves more that an passing mention here.

Back to Miss Freak, apart from a potty mouth, she seems to be quite harmless. After her entertainment value had elapse Ditmar escorted her out, telling her that he was leaving and so was she. The evening batender last night, Susie, has no tolerance at all for freaks; kooks, yes, by all means, but not psychopaths in vintage Valentino. We all have our limits, and Miss Freak would have been eclipse--in any event--by the next nut in vintage Ungaro.