"Have you eaten yet?" Lut asked me. "I haven't."
"Did you want to go somewhere for breakfast?"
"Breakfast, brunch, lunch, whatever you want to call it."
It's too late for McGriddles, and we had those yesterday anyway. "IHOP would be crowded."
"Pizza!" Lut interjected.
"Howabout we go out for pizza?"
"What a great idea. I'm glad you thought of it."
We get dressed. In the hallway by the door, Lut looked me over. "A little overdressed for pizza, aren't we?"
I leaned forward to kiss him. "We are not overdressed for pizza. You look perfectly fine." He looked good, in fact, in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the sillhouette of a blue dragon in a circle on it.
"Not quite Goth," he said of me. "Needs more black."
I was wearing a black choker, a black blouse with a lace back, a wrinkle-look black skirt cut just above the knees in front and sweeping almost to my ankles in back, and black suede boots. "I see. Black bracelets, do you think? Black stockings? Oh -- black gloves? I have some of those I could get."
"Black makeup," he said. "Or maybe white. I forget which."
"I have some black eyeliner. I don't think I have any white makeup, though."
On the drive to Minsky's, Lut told me about a man who had a reputation as a fop in the SCA. "He explained on a forum once why he'd decided to become a fop."
"At his first event, another man struck up a conversation with him, and went into a long rant about the evils of excess. Especially in clothing," Lut said. "The fellow listening to him thought, 'Wow. That sounds like so much fun.' Thus a fop was born." As I laughed, Lut continued, "And while it's always good to inspire people, I don't think the ranter had in mind to inspire him to that."