Drew and I met a girl at the pancake house, she invited us to her Doble Quinceanera. (She's turning 30) "But you have to dress up" was the only stipulation to us coming.
You don't know us- we don't have a problem dressing up.
The day off Drew and I went down to a costume shop in attempt to rent the Mariachi Band outfits.
The pants were huge and crazy so we decided to dress as a Spanish Matador. Laughing about how it was not at all Mexican but Spanish.
I slicked my hair back, with a tight ponytail and hairspray and shoved flowers around the bun.
and after going to El Matador in Bountiful, we walked into the party.
We knew no one. NO ONE. and everyone was dressed like they were going to the Prom. Sparkly dresses, guys in ties. Good looking people galore, bountiful's finest. It was decorated with dim red lights, tacky valentines hearts and the Spanish music was blaring. So with no worry about embarrassing myself, we danced hard, and because our costumes were so constricting we kept shedding layers until I just looked like a perverted Benjaman Franklin.
It was a glorious night. We both were dumbfounded as to why we didn't dress in costumes more.
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