She was already in motion towards the beer tent leaving Chet alone by the festival water station. Her Sailor Mars costume drew few eyes as she became a red blur towards the pilsners. It was early, and the sun had not come out yet. This left the field clear sparing yogis, coffee fiends, dance zombies from the night prior, and the Sailor Scouts.
Chet looked down at his costume to avoid the inevitable acid come up panic moment. It turns out if you fit a bear into a dress he just becomes a bigger bear. A more noticable target. But it was early. The dance zombies are molly monsters and don't want to discuss the weather. He was safe.
"Oooo hey there handsome," coo'ed a sing song voice.
Fuck. The spell was broken. Not safe. He looked up and made eye contact with two purple wigged women collectively covered in less than 5 pieces of tape. His breath sped up. Digusting festival sex was a bucket list item. This is happening. This is happening. This is happening!
"We just think youre absolutely gorgeous," said purple 1.
Terror. Chet felt absolute terror. This is not happening. Too much eye contact was made. The soul gaze started. They know.
"We were really hoping to meet someone like (brief pause, probably only 2 hrs) you." Sing songed purple 2.
"Where the fuck is Sarah," Chet wondered, "She is my totem."
"We just wanted to know what team you play for." Purple 1 asked.
Ah, rank and file. This one Chet knew. His right hand flew on the wings of light in an upside down salute below his jeweled tiara.
"I ALLY WITH THE MOON," Chet saluted.
Have you ever seen someone melt away? Moonwalk away? Jigger away? It's a move you do when you are afraid to break eye contact but need to leave quickly. The purples jiggered away and were eaten by dance zombies.
"Got my beer! What's next?" Sarah said cheerfully.
Chet turned slowly. The weight of the world coming back into focus. The grass stopped snickering louder than thought.
"I fucked up," Chet said, "Sarah, i fucked up."
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