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Something John (Stormlizard) commented on his latest blog. He mentioned evening gowns and it prompted this memory.

This'd be just a few months after I'd got married to the crazy russian woman. That makes it around Christmas of 1987. The barman at my local pub told me that they were having a fancy dress night on Saturday. That sounded like fun. But, I had no money to hire an outfit after that bloody wedding so I reckoned I'd go dressed as a girl. For some reason the chief bridesmaid had left her dress at my house after the wedding so that was a start.

And before you ask, I've got no idea how she went home without it.

Anyway, I borrowed one of my wifes' basques. It was red with black lace and I'll have to say I looked pretty good in it. Needed some bathroom tissue as padding at the top. Black lace stockings and suspenders. I went for panties rather than a thong for obvious reasons. Wife had a nice pair of red stilettoes that I could get my feet into. I practiced walking up and down the living room in them for a bit. Turns out you need to put the soles of your feet down first and then just sort of balance on the heels.

Alright, I'm good to go. It's only a five minute walk to the pub so off we went.

When we get there it's not a fancy dress night at all. There wasn't a pirate or a red indian in sight. Just me dressed up in a frock. Keith, the barman, had been playing a joke.

I strolled up to the bar. Keith had gone very pale. "What would you like?" he asks me. "Well I was thinking of a light sherry but I reckon I'll settle for my usual Guinness. I'll be over there at that corner table. I'll assume you can find a table at your own pub". It's more difficult than you'd think to sit down in a frock. You need to sit down carefully, cross your legs demurely and smooth your dress down. Well, you don't want to show people your stocking tops do you?

Keith brought the drinks over. "You're going to kill me aren't you?" he asks. "Quite possibly, yes." I told him. "But I'll tell you what, you find out where butterflies go in the Winter and I'll let you live".

He took the next day off work and, apparently, spent it in the library and frantically 'phoning around.

Turns out that in late Autumn butterflies all shoot off into the sky together. Some sort of communal thing. No idea how they communicate. They gather in a cloud which can be up to a mile in the air and then set off for Spain. Then in the Spring they all come back to England to lay their eggs. Well, everybody has sex when they go to Spain for a holiday don't they?

Keith lives.