So my wife and I went out to celebrate, and for some reason we decided to go to the scariest bar in our town. You know the one you don’t see because your mind automatically blocks out dangerous and threatening things. (It’s the same phenomenon the keeps us from remembering alien abductions). But we decided to try something new.

It was dark, rainy, the kind of night when unsuspecting lesbian professionals are abducted by modern day slave traders masquerading as drunk men loitering around trucks.

We had our beer and were headed to the safety of our fuel-efficient sedan, when two men stepped out of the shadows and stopped us.

I was beginning to regret my fashion choice: pinstripe skirt suit. Wife was wearing a tie and a fedora. We did not fit in. The man looked at me, look at her, and tapped his cigarette. It was too late to drop her hand and pretend we were “just friends.” He eyed us again, squinting.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

 That never bodes well.

He paused.

“Are you in some kind of band?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s like a band.”

And we headed happily home.