Mardi Gras and the Unraveling of Me.
Years ago, my neighbor Mrs. Dunkirk—a devout woman with a penchant for pressed skirts and Sunday church hats—would mysteriously disappear each February. Her destination? New Orleans.
She returned each year transformed, as if she’d left something heavy behind in the Crescent City. There was a glow to her, a looseness in the way she laughed, in the way she waved her hands while recounting stories of parades, masks, and the strange, wonderful freedom that came with them.
I used to think, What could a reserved, Bible-quoting woman like Mrs. Dunkirk possibly find in a festival of sin?
And yet, here I was. Fifty-five, gay, single, and—if I were being honest—tired. Tired of routine, tired of measured steps, tired of playing it safe. Maybe it was time to see if Mardi Gras had something waiting for me too.
So I packed my bags and booked a flight to New Orleans.
I told myself I was here for the history, for the culture, for the sheer experience of it. But deep down, I knew the truth.
I wasn’t just looking for a parade.
I was looking for permission—permission to unravel, to let go, to be seen.
A City Dripping in Desire
From the moment I stepped onto Bourbon Street, it was clear that New Orleans doesn’t just celebrate Mardi Gras—it inhales it, exhales it, pulses with it like a living thing.
The streets were a riot of color and music. Jazz curled through the humid air, and neon lights bathed revelers in hues of electric pink and gold. Beads rained down from balconies, caught by eager hands. Strangers embraced like old lovers. The city wasn’t just alive—it was breathing for me.
And then I saw him.
At first, he was just a shadow on the periphery, a man standing at the bar in Oz, a legendary gay club at the heart of the French Quarter. The room was pulsing with energy—bare-chested men danced on platforms, and sweat-dampened laughter echoed in the air. But this man, he was different.
He wasn’t trying too hard. He wasn’t performing. He was just leaning against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching the room with a quiet sort of amusement.
And then he looked at me.
And smiled.
Not just any smile—the kind of smile that felt like an invitation and a dare all at once.
My stomach twisted. Not in nervousness, but in recognition.
I didn’t know his name yet, but something in my bones told me: I am going to remember this man.
I made my way over, heart hammering. He didn’t move as I slid onto the barstool beside him, just tilted his head in a way that said, Well, hello there.
"You look like a man who’s either deeply lost or exactly where he’s meant to be," he said, eyes twinkling.
"Both, maybe," I admitted, not quite sure what to do with my hands.
He clinked his glass against mine. "Then let’s make sure you leave here knowing which one it is."
A Love Letter to the Night
His name was Daniel.
And Daniel was the kind of man who made you forget the rest of the world existed.
We danced—slow at first, then with abandon. The club blurred into the background, the music becoming the drumbeat of something ancient, something inevitable. At one point, I found myself outside, standing beneath a cascade of beads as a makeshift parade passed by, Daniel’s arm draped lazily over my shoulders like he’d known me for years.
He took me to a rooftop in the Marigny district, where we looked down at the glowing city below.
“New Orleans has a way of making you fall in love,” he murmured, fingers brushing mine.
“With the city?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He gave me that slow, knowing smile. “With everything.”
And then, finally, finally—he kissed me.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a damnation and a salvation all at once. It was warm lips and the ghost of whiskey and the kind of aching, desperate kiss you only get once in a lifetime.
And then, because the universe has a sense of humor, a rogue string of beads smacked me right in the face.
“First Mardi Gras injury?” Daniel teased, brushing his thumb along my jaw.
“First of many, probably.”
And then I kissed him again, because hell, why not?
The Morning After Mardi Gras
The parades slowed. The music quieted. The streets that once roared with life were now coated in the glittering remains of a thousand wild nights.
I packed my bag slowly, the weight of it different now. Heavier. Lighter. I didn’t know which.
Daniel leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His expression unreadable.
“You’re leaving,” he said. Not a question.
“Mardi Gras is over,” I replied, though it didn’t feel like the truth.
He stepped closer, fingers grazing my wrist, brushing against the beads still looped there.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “some of us don’t wait for Mardi Gras to celebrate.”
And there it was. The invitation.
The choice.
I could leave. I could go back to Missouri, back to my quiet, measured life.
Or I could stay.
Or, at the very least—
I could come back.
Daniel must have seen something shift in my expression, because he smirked and pressed something into my palm—a gold doubloon, cool against my skin.
“Keep this,” he said. “It’s a tradition. If you come back next year, you have to give it back to me.”
I swallowed. “And if I don’t?”
His lips curled. “Then you better hold onto it until you do.”
And just like that, I knew.
Mrs. Dunkirk had been right all along.
Mardi Gras wasn’t just about parades. It was about permission—to be reckless, to be free, to be yourself.
And maybe, just maybe—
To fall in love.
The End. But Not Really.
Would I be back next year?
Let’s just say—
I never was good at holding onto things for too long.
Final Touches: Humor, Romance, and Emotional Depth
- I added playful humor (the beads smacking him mid-kiss, Daniel teasing him about his first Mardi Gras injury).
- I deepened the romantic tension—more build-up, longing glances, hesitation before the first kiss.
- The ending is bittersweet yet hopeful, with the doubloon acting as a symbolic reminder of what was left behind—and what could still be.
Planning Your Own Mardi Gras Adventure
If this story has sparked something inside you—a longing for adventure, romance, or just the sheer joy of letting go—then maybe it’s time for your own trip to Mardi Gras. Whether you’re seeking love, self-discovery, or just a damn good party, New Orleans is waiting for you.
Here’s how you can plan your own unforgettable Mardi Gras experience:
Step 1: Pick Your Dates
Mardi Gras always falls the day before Ash Wednesday, but celebrations start weeks in advance. Here are the upcoming dates:
- Mardi Gras 2025: March 4
- Mardi Gras 2026: February 17
- Mardi Gras 2027: February 9
To experience the full energy of the festival, aim to arrive the weekend before Fat Tuesday.
Step 2: Book Your Stay (Early!)
Hotels and rentals in the French Quarter sell out fast, so book your accommodations at least six months in advance.
Best Places to Stay:
- The Roosevelt New Orleans, A Waldorf Astoria Hotel (Luxury) – Elegant, historic, and right near the action.
- 🔗 Book Here
🔗 Book Here
🔗 Book Here
🔗 Book Here
🔗 Book Here
Step 3: Plan Your Must-See Events
There are dozens of parades, but here are the absolute best ones:
🔗 Endymion Info
🔗 Bacchus Info
- Krewe of Zulu – Famous for its gold-painted coconuts, this Black-founded krewe brings New Orleans tradition to life.
🔗 Bourbon Street Awards
- Krewe of Armeinius Ball – One of the oldest LGBTQ+ Mardi Gras krewes, known for dazzling costumes and dramatic performances.
🔗 Armeinius Info
- Lundi Gras Festival – A free concert on the Mississippi River the night before Fat Tuesday.
- 🔗 Lundi Gras Info
Step 4: Explore Beyond Bourbon Street
Mardi Gras is more than just Bourbon Street! Explore these hidden gems:
🔗 More Info
✅ The Historic Voodoo Museum – Dive into the city’s mystical past with real voodoo artifacts.
🔗 Museum Website
✅ Café du Monde – You must try the beignets and chicory coffee.
- 🔗 Visit Café du Monde
✅ St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 – Visit the famous tomb of Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau (tours required).
🔗 Book a Tour
🔗 More Info
Step 5: Pack the Essentials
Comfy shoes (you’ll be walking A LOT).
Costumes & Masks (the crazier, the better).
Bead Bags (you’ll want to collect and throw beads).
- Portable Phone Charger (because your phone WILL die mid-parade).
Pro Tip: Buy your beads and masks at local shops like Mardi Gras World instead of overpriced tourist traps.
🔗 Mardi Gras World
Step 6: Live in the Moment
New Orleans is not just a city—it’s a feeling. Don’t just watch the celebration—be part of it. Dance in the streets, talk to strangers, get lost, and most importantly… say YES to the adventure.
Because maybe, just maybe—
You’ll find something you didn’t even know you were looking for.
Laissez les bons temps rouler! (Let the good times roll!)