I used to attend a gathering of weirdos at which I’d sometimes wear a tacky prom dress as a gag. A friend saw a picture of me dressed that way and requested I write her this piece, which is short but to the point.Pulling the door open I could feel the electricity in the air as we stood before the Salvation Army. She smiled up at me, a smile that said I can’t believe we’re doing this and a million other things all at once, before purposefully striding into the store. I watched her bare thighs under her skirt as she walked in and, remembering her lack of underwear, felt a twinge in mine. Her long brown hair was in a single ponytail that trailed down her back, the thin straps of the white tank top made it plain she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I was staring again. I shook it off best I could and followed her in. It was midday and the aisles were thinly populated. rus escort Good, at least we won’t get thrown out right away, I thought. As Sondra walked directly to the women’s clothing I sauntered towards the hats, wanting to draw this out as long as possible, and eyed the staff: two not-yet-old women behind the counter apparently neck-deep in receipts. They hadn’t even registered our entry. Excellent.Keeping one eye on my sexy co-conspirator I examined the hats. I fancy myself a connoisseur of thrift-store hats: some women’s go-to-church hats can pass as pimp gear, whereas something straw and covered with plastic flowers can perfectly articulate my taste for the silly sublime. This rack held nothing too wonderful aside from a porkpie that fit quite well. I left it on my head as I wandered towards the yenimahalle escort men’s clothes, pretending to analyze certain items but mostly watching Sondra as she buzzed intently through the racks a couple aisles over, occasionally shooting me an unmistakable *what are you waiting for, get over here* look.Unable to torture her any longer I ambled over as she flipped through dresses. Putting my arms around her waist I nestled my head on her shoulder, looked down, and sighed contentedly. “Nice hat,” she offered, continuing to flip through the rack. “What do you think of these?” She gestured at a small pile of clothing thrown over the rack.”They’re perfect, they’re oh so soft and round and they’ve got the cutest little ni–“She elbowed me in the gut, but smiled. “Not *those*, silly, the dresses.” Releasing her slowly (and relishing the feel of her body under my hands, electricity again) I stepped to the pile and looked through her findings: a blue cotton shift, a “little black dress,” and a beige thing with plunging neckline. Each seemed a pretty good choice, but lacking the magical essence of a true find.”OH MY GOD,” she blurted happily, discovering something new on the rack. In my periphery I saw some customers give us the hairy eyeball, and inwardly smiled. “This is so great!” She held it up: a deep violet (!) ballgown lucky to be called “gaudy,” its top covered in sequins and bits of lace, shoulders and skirt enormously puffed out, the back wide open until just above the posterior, which was covered by a huge white bow. Easily one of the top five tackiest things I’d ever seen.”Yup, that’s the one,” I grinned. Sondra’s smile lit up her eyes like a thousand firecrackers. She looked like someone had told her she wouldn’t ever need teeth before locking her in a candy store; she held the dress up to my frame with a silent giddy reverence I couldn’t help but adore. “It’s big enough, I think.