Re: Collision near the dance floor: Jamie & Patrick
Jamie couldn't imagine being raised by his sisters. It was like imagining being raised by a pack of wolves - if wolves had you know, a yen for pink lipstick and an obsession with shoe sales. Maybe it was some kind of initiation into the mysteries of girl, but Jamie was good with what he had without the you know, induction. He looked at Patrick, who was way more open about what had to be some kind of family history - people weren't raised by their siblings as default, you had parents - and wow, add a secret brother to the mix and you had yourself an episode of Jerry Springer. Was that show even still on air?
"I think the secret of girls is like, a girl-secret. Why would your brother have the solution? Unless he was a girl before, wow, that's awkward," and Jamie had no concept of privacy. It wasn't even a shamelessness thing and Jamie had a lot of shameless to make up for, what with the (faux, except maybe real?) insecurity complex blossoming in a bar full of pretty people and Johnny Cash. It was just... not a privacy-requirement, losing a shirt temporarily.
"I mean, you could make cupcakes a thing. But then you might wear pastel icing, and I don't know that lavender really goes with the tan set-up." Jamie looked around for a sink or something, where he could at least, you know, rinse out the champagne and not smell like a day at work (except, beer rather than champagne but details). "I guess you could make it work, style it out. Do the woods care? You could take an hour out, chill instead of serve."