She arrives at the farmhouse to find two parties in full swing.
Party number one: the usual. Young people, flashing lights, terrible music way too loud and dubious chemicals.
Party number two: gypsies of confusion already setting up camp in the paddock, wrapping themselves around the building, pulsating and dancing with delight.
Right then, she thinks, time to break out the dancing shoes.
Her skirt becomes shorter, heels taller, hair down.
The gypsies make way as she approaches, but there are scowls and malicious glares. There's good feeding for them here. If they could stop her they would.
