I’m So XOXO Dead

So I got invited to a friend’s birthday party. I’ve known L since he was in college (he’s several batches much younger than me), but we never really became close until recently. Now L’s party had a costume theme, so he warned us way ahead of time to dress up ala-Gossip Girls; he even emailed some links just to give his guests an idea of the look he wanted. None of my current wardrobe matches the sartorial sense of Upper Eastsiders, so the early heads-up was a welcomed gesture. Yesterday morning I even received an SMS from L, giving directions to the venue. I knew I had to get cracking on buying clothes for the party, so this afternoon I rushed to the nearest mall, thinking that even though I had plenty of time before next Saturday, might as well get the outfit out of the way.

I’m neither a clotheshorse nor a fashionista. In fact, I’m a little sloppy when it comes to clothing. Give me the basics—color, style and especially price—and I’m a happy man. But because it’s a party, I tried my best to come up with an ensemble that would fit in the set of that TV series. And I must say, I was proud of what I managed to get—two pairs of pants (I couldn’t decide which one so I got both), a cool shirt, and a new pair of shoes. I was so happy with my purchases I decided to treat myself to a fancy dinner.

While waiting for my order to arrive, I decided to check my phone’s inbox for text messages I may have forgotten to reply to (usually when I put my phone on mute). I reread L’s text message yesterday and found myself growing cold. It said to prepare for tonight. Tonight? But the party’s next Saturday! I immediately searched for L’s earlier text message about the party. It read: “…on the fourth of July, everyone’s heading out to….” Fourth of July?!

Oh. Good. Lord.

I carried the heaviest shopping bag ever when I walked back to my car after dinner.