Mardi Maigre

My past few Mardi Gras have, sadly, been washouts. 
It seems to always be freezing rain. What's up with that?
The last time I made an effort to dress up, I traipsed through the pouring rain to get from Bywater to the French Quarter to meet Mr. Peenee.
Never did make it all the way.  Lost an ostrich plume somewhere on Frenchman St.
I was dressed in gold lame and pearls as Gloria Swanson. a Venetian dandy.
I still haven't gotten my tights clean.

This year, the weather was beyond perfect, so I had no excuse whatsoever.
But I couldn't muster the energy, mental or otherwise.  I'm not sure why.
I tried to take myself to a movie, but there was nothing to see.
So I stayed in bed and read.

Last year, despite my general malaise, I ventured to my ex's annual (always amazing) Mardi Gras party.
I don't know what I was thinking.

I ended up (unexpectedly) meeting his new boyfriend,  in from Europe.
oops
It was all rather like landing on a landmine.

I didn't expect it, but I should not have been surprised. 
Anyway, I acquitted myself admirably all things considered.
I'm pretty good at things like that.

Unfortunately, he (the new boyfriend) turned out to be completely lovely.
I couldn't even hate him or anything. 
I chatted as amiably and nonchalantly as I could, and then I went home and had a good cry.

And a nap.
So lame.

This year, all things considered, I guess, was better.