Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase by Jen Lancaster Page A

stops abruptly, causing Steph, Curtis, and me to slam into her. We all go down and wind up tangled in a giant pile of American denim. 63
    Any chance of dignity already shot, we brush ourselves off and grab a table on the periphery of the bar. The whole place is really dark and smoky and our eyes have yet to adjust. “A bar!” we exclaim in stage whispers. “Oh, my God, we are in a bar ! If only all the kids at home could see us now! How radical are we??”
    Curtis is the only one of us who takes German so it’s up to him to tell us what to order. However, he can’t figure out the menu and throws his hands up in frustration. Everything listed is foreign to him. Like, even though he can pronounce the word “Gewürztraminer,” he doesn’t know what it might possibly mean. Is it delicious? Is it swill? Is it liquor ? We’re clueless.
    We head up to the bar en masse and I order a dry white wine. And here’s a language lesson I didn’t know. The German word for “three” sounds just like English word “dry,” so when I place my order, we’re served three glasses. We don’t want to let on like we’re not, you know, cool , so Curtis, Steph, and I grab the goblets. Sandy’s on her own so she orders a Becks because she once saw a commercial for it during Friday Night Videos .
    We’re so busy trying to work out how I screwed up the drinks, it takes us a few minutes to figure out we’re the only girls (except Curtis) in this bar.
    “Do you believe in miracles— Yes!” I squeal. “There’s got to be two dozen guys in here!”
    “We are going to meet so many men!” Sandy shrieks.
    “A lot of them are nice-looking,” Steph reluctantly agrees, glancing at Curtis to see if her statement causes a reaction.
    “They’re ours ,” I agree. The proximity to boys has definitely lightened our moods. “You guys, they’re ours for the taking! And, gosh, they are cute! And they’re dancing! I love when guys are confident enough to dance by themselves!”
    Curtis just sits there with a wry lemon-twist smile on his face, soaking in the atmosphere.
    “What’s with you?” I ask.
    “Nothing.” He giggles.
    Sandy inquires, “Then why are you smirking?”
    He replies, “Y’all are going to have a big, stupid, American flash of realization here in three . . . two . . . one . . .” He turns his head to gaze at two men all dressed up in matchy-matchy motorcycle jackets. And their leather pants? How deliciously European! “Wait for it . . . and, now.” The men’s heads begin to move closer and closer and then . . . Holy shit!
    Sandy yelps, “ Ahhh! We’ve got to haul ass out of here right now! We’re in a gay bar! Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!!” She shoots straight up out of her chair, knocking it over and spilling half her beer.
    “Come on, come on, we’ve got to go!” I agree, grabbing my coat and purse. “Hustle! Hustle!”
    Curtis sits there calmly, crossing his legs. “Stop.”
    “What? We can’t stop—Curtis, we need to leave this place right this second!” All of Steph’s anxiousness is back, and then some.
    Nonplussed, Curtis replies, “ Why do we have to run out of here? Ponder for a minute, won’t you? Y’all are worried they’re going to give you gay cootie s or something?”
    Sandy pauses by her upset chair. “Well . . . no.”
    He continues, “And does preferring boys to girls really make them any different from you? Does it make ’em bad people?”
    I volunteer the next answer, “I guess not, right?” 64
    Steph cocks her head and peers at Curtis like it’s the first time she’s ever really looked at him. “Are . . . are you trying to tell us something?”
    Curtis sighs and takes a delicate pull on his glass of wine. “Y’all are about the slowest people I ever did meet.”
    Three sets of overly mascaraed eyes blink for about a minute before any of us speak.
    “Wait, you’re gay? As in you prefer men to women?” Sandy asks.
    “Mmm hmm,” he replies.
    “ No way! I don’t