On the Steps of the Palace

David and I went to a party last night in Columbia Heights where I only vaguely remember running into someone who described how she and her friend once went as Romy and Michele for Halloween, complete with matching pink sequined nighties. Obviously, this woman is my hero, and I kind of want to be her best friend. The only problem is that this is literally all I remember about her - not who she is, where she works, anything - and I will probably never see her again. She is basically my gay Cinderella, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life going to house parties asking people how well they fit into platform shoes.