Therapy

So we went to Therapy tonight because, hey, we now live approximately four minutes away, and Thursday is when they do a double-header of Project Runway followed by Lavinia, who is terrifying. At about 10:50pm, Brady was like, "you have to sit on the outside of the table," and I was like, "no," and then went to the bathroom and found out that Brady switched our seats so I was sitting closer to the middle of the room. Fine. At about 11:15pm, I found out that this is because the people who sit on the outside of the table are the ones who get dragged on stage for the amateur go-go dancing contest. And the only thing worse than being forced into an amateur go-go dancing contest for like forty-five minutes is having to gracefully bow out of it, even if that does make you look more mature than the guy who is clearly out of the contest but refuses to get off the stage. The upside is that I got a free drink out of the evening; the downside is that I'd always hoped my dignity was worth more than $7. (I guess it's good that someone has clarified that, no, my dignity is worth exactly $7, and only in the form of a plastic token.)