what comes between you and your calvins?

i don't go out on schoolnights, as i'm sure you're aware by now. tonight, however, i'm making an exception. in the words of tom, "my last act as a baltimoron will be just as it should be: watching a wet underwear contest at grand central station." it's terry (chicago) and tom's (DC) last opportunity to partake in something so quintessentially baltimore. sure, other towns have wet underwear contests, but there's a sense of irony at ours that just can't be replicated. for the most part, the contestants are not sexy, nor do we expect them to be. we watch for the same reason we watch surgery on tv: you don't wanna look, but you can't not.

terry's threatening to join the competition. i can't blame him--he'd win. i like to support all of my friends' dreams, but i told terry, "you just can't compete, terry." "why not?" he asked. "it's just not something gentlemen do," i replied.

the scary thing is, i was serious. when, dear readers, did i become a genteel old southern woman?