Every year, J throws a wonderfully elaborate and wacky-good-fun theme birthday party. I own black cowboy boots because of J’s birthday parties (thank you, Value Village, Thrift Superstore). He went to the trouble of putting saloon doors on his apartment. Real cowboy boots - and a bottle of whiskey for the host - were the least I could do.

This year the theme is Tiki Tales, featuring tropical dress. I’d already acquired a sarong and was trying to figure out if I could get away with a coconut bra when I talked to S. She and C had decided to take tropical in a less obvious direction and go as Gilligan and the Professor. S already has the hat, and I will gladly hand the coconut over to C: it has a more dignified destiny as a radio.

Oh, and a certain feisty redhead came up in their plans, so now all I need is a lamé gown, enough hairspray to maintain the structural integrity of a bouffant, and a Lee Press-On Mole.