the elaborate winged costume found itself displaced by my familliar fallback - the gypsy. except this time i didn't have my grandmother's costume jewelry to raid, nor my mother's old hippie clothes.

turns out, i have an adequate supply of hippie clothes myself, and since i own legitimate belly-dancing costume, it worked out fairly well. we had a live band at the party, comprised of a housemate's friends and their assorted drums, guitars and didjeridoos.

as the band packed up towards three o'clock, one of the drummers asked me why i hadn't been dancing. before i could respond, a guitarist and a random partier both assured him that i had. and in fact, my jangling skirt had accompanied almost every song they played, but from wherever i happened to be - on the stairs, in the kitchen, answering the front door. i've been too long without dancing, and my blood rushed at the opportunity.

staggering up the stairs after most everyone had left, i collapsed into my very soft and wonderful bed with just enough time to nod my head to the drummers (now jamming in the attic) before falling asleep.