Diabolique

Saturday night I was not permitted to attend a fetish ball because I wore objectionable pants. I was instructed to take them off, if I wanted to attend the event. As I rode the subway home, I considered the advantages one enjoys in rejection. Fondly I recalled the time I was rejected at a dance club because I wasn't wearing a wife-beater or adjusting my genitals in conversation with friends. I thanked the bouncer--now I had money for milk and bread. Social rejection is a big money-saver.

When you are rejected from Philadelphia's premiere fetish event last Saturday night, you do well to have cab fare home. Instead, I wandered Northern Liberties wrapped in pantyhose and duct-tape with welder's goggles dangling from my neck. Poor people are not really interested in this, but that does not make riding the subway any less upsetting. I was fortunate to have my work jacket at my disposal, even though Saturday was very warm night.