To begin with, I fit right in. I mean, this was my kind of party. And, in spite of the well defined title of the soiree, “A Party for Horrible People”, this, my friends, was not a key party. Come to think of it, I don’t believe people are horrible for partaking in key parties, anyway. Hey, man, consenting adults and all that. (For my part, though, I can’t get over even the thought of the thick funk smell floating about the stuffy air of a key party. Just yuck. This is why I could never watch porn, for that matter – I get caught up in the minutiae. Besides, I’m far too sensory driven to watch something so convoluted – talk about overwhelming. But, I digress. Must be the title.)
It says a lot about my tribe to note that this party was thrown by one of the original founders of the BIC, or Bad Influence Club. The BIC came about when one friend’s ex-husband referred to three of her friends as bad influences. Well, we just had to become a club. The four of us are a wiley group of fun-loving, dirty-joking, drinkin’-n-thinkin’, salt-of-the-earth human beings who have known one another going on 30+ years. And, man, do we know how to have a good time. So, of course, Jilly Bean’s Party for Horrible People was bound to be fun.
This particular party celebrated Cards Against Humanity, everyone’s favorite family game. It was set up like a poker tournament, with thirty or so people playing in groups meant to tier down from the horrible to the horrible-er the horrible-est. (They’re words, for reals.) And through a bit of cheating as we later found out, Amy, another BIC member, proved herself to be the Most Horrible Person, taking home the trophy of one Big Black Dong. Yes, you read that right: She got a big ol’ dildo to go for all her horribleness.
A few days following the night of debauchery, dear Amy was driving quietly with her nine-year-old in the backseat when her daughter asked innocently, “What’s this?” Catching a glimpse in the rearview mirror, Ames sees her sweet little girl, all doe-eyed and virtuous, holding up a big, black, flaccid silicone penis, flopping to and fro.
Without hesitation, Amy reached into the backseat, taking the BBC from her daughter, quickly saying, “Oh, that’s Kati’s water bottle.” Now, why she threw me under the bus is anyone’s guess, but we’ve had laughs about that going on five years now. But, the bigger question? Does that little girl – a teenager now, actually remember that I had a dick shaped water bottle? And if so? She may have some questions for me. Also, I’d better buy some dick shaped water bottles…you know, just in case.