There was no doubt in anyone that Sunday was to be the big day, the afternoon of booze and boys (and girls). There are times where a soft message floats off the Atlantic summoning all to the beach, and yesterday was one of those days. At 4 PM the crowd started to form, first on the patio and sidewalk and then inside. Suddenly, Leopoldo and I realized that we were in our early afternoon outfits and rushed home to change into late afternoon wear; by the time we got back the drinking and carousing was furious, a typical afternoon in the tropics. We managed to get out before serious damage to reputations could ensue, but others did not. Many shuffled in today in great pain looking for more medicine.
Dustin and his boyfriend symbolize the great pairing of White and Tan here in Miami.

I can just hear every one's favorite gay Mormon, Dave saying, "Good times...good times" He'll be here soon, too; it is now time for annual migration of northern gay birds to fly to Miami.

"A tasty piece of meat between two slices of white bread" comes to mind. Stuyvesant-Fish and The Astors shamelessly led the Bunny Hop, or something near it. (Mrs. S-F re-entered the workforce today. At this hour there is still no word if the workforce survived. )

The fashion find of the afternoon was Deon's fringed Capri pants and you know how expensive something so silly must be. Mr. Astor gave me a pair, too, but mine stick to the more classic lines; the pockets to them are so shallow that I've already lost two cell phones and a card case out of them. The word shallow is inextricably associated with Capri pants.