We are childless and on holiday in New Orleans, checking in via blog.

Today Eric and I treated ourselves to a two-hour dinner at Galatoire’s (upscale dining, conveniently located next to a Hustler’s shop — after dinner, one can pick up a dessert of edible panties, awesome) in New Orleans.  The food?  Scrumptious.  The people watching?  Even better.

A few highlights:

1. Are pink sequin vests “in” this Christmas?  I guess they are if you look like Britney Spears, or what she would have looked like had she stayed in small town Louisiana.  At least her skirt covered her ass — barely — as she teetered around on high heels with a baby on her hip.

2. Hats and horns are not just for new years.  The revelers on the first floor sported snowflake head bands, elf hats, reindeer ears, and crowns in every color.  Wow.

3.  And the best part?  The 60ish couple who sat diagonally from us and during half their meal (we left before them) consumed three bottles of champagne and three martinis, and still didn’t look like they enjoyed sharing their Christmas Eve dinner.

Quell the wrinkled brow, Pamela. What was I stressed about on the Canal Street streetcar?

Yes, we did consider people might find us amusing, too, me in my giant men’s leather jacket borrowed from Eric over my velvet dress, or him in his bug eyed sunglasses. But, nah…

Eric walked New Orleans today in a suit with a backpack.  He looked like a Jehovah’s Witness, and I tried to get him to pass out faux pamphlets and ask passersby on Bourbon Street if they’d found Jesus, but he wouldn’t.  Party pooper.

Merry Christmas, everyone —

Pamelot

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