You know those stories that sound heaps funnier when you tell them than they were when they happened? Welcome to my Saturday night...

8:30pm. No streetlights. Fog. Gravel road. Me in a Buffy the Vamipre Slayer cheerleading outfit (complete with pigtails held by little fuzzy pompoms.) There are no words in the English language for how lost I am right now. I've never driven to my friend's house before and I've never been there at night. I'm miles from home, in the dark, DYING to go to the loo, screeching expletives at the roadmap and lost, lost, lost, lost, lost.

Wes Craven would be creaming his jeans at this point.

Fortunately, as witnessed by this post, nobody with a hook instead of a hand found me and reduced me to gobbets of Tree. I managed to figure out where I had turned the wrong way, found the house and arrive with sunny smiles for the host.

But not a good start to the evening.

Even the theme for the night had given me grief. 'Come as your favourite sports star!' Sport? Oh, that thing that comes on between the news and the weather...

Sport... favourite sport star... coming up a blank here. Lessee...

I bellydance.

Nope, not a sport.

I read.

No Olympic medals there.

I cook really good Thai!

Lycra not required, although I could probably get a judges ruling from the Iron Chef on whether it is a sport or not...

I decided that cheerleaders were vaguely sporty and Buffy had been a cheerleader and I had a Sunnydale High t-shirt... Hey, government policy has been made on shakier evidence! :P

People had gone to real effort at the party, though. Skiers, soccer players, football (Australian Rules) players, even a Monica Seles complete with knife protruding from her shoulder. The host's brother showed up in drag as a netball player. His breasts were so perky I nearly wept with jealousy.

I told my fly fishing story (see previous blog) to a friend. (Hey, it's my story, I'm going to get as much mileage out of it in RL as I do online!) Turns out he is an avid fly fisherman.

"Oh bother," said Pooh.

I delicately extracted my Sketcher-clad ladies size 8 from my mouth and became intimately acquainted with the dessert table.

But all in all, not the worst night of my life. Especially when I discovered the effect of pigtails and white ankle socks on the SO...