Sunday, July 17

In Which I FINALLY find A Costume


This fancy dress task has me at a loss for once. I don’t like fancy dress parties. Why can’t I come as myself?
My last foray into this horrendous party world was about 8 years ago, before The Husband and I were married. An acquaintance of mine was celebrating his 30th birthday, and being of a rather limited imagination he decided that his party would have the theme of ‘Dusk til Dawn’ He had been rather blown away by the Clooney/Tarantino film of the same name and decided that his party would last the requisite number of hours and also - rather ambitously if you ask
me – would have women wandering around in bikinis with snakes hanging off them (in November? Was he mad?)
So I decided to go as the George Clooney character. Black suit with waistcoat (no shirt), hair slic
ked back and down, borrowed a large gun and got my friend – Bear – to paint the tattoos over my arm, chest and neck. Hailing a cab I went off at six pm (‘Dusk’) and entered the fray. It was quite boring really, a lot of youngsters dressed as Vampires or the undead wandering around looking ridiculous. No interesting people or stimulating conversations. So after a few hours (and some very inferior wine), I made my excuses and left.
Now it may have been the wine, but I got this ridiculous thought that it would be fun to call in upon The Husband (actually the Boyfriend of four months standing at that time
) and barge in with a gun. So I get the cabby to drop me off by his house only it took a bit of difficulty remembering where it was as I’d only been there a couple of times before. But I knew the street and recognised it when we arrived. And I could see the lights were on and there were people – his housemates – in the living room.
So I rang the doorbell and when someone answered, stuck my gun in his forehead and yelled something like: ‘OK MOTHERFUCKER, I AM COMING IN AND YOU’RE NOT GOING TO STOP ME! BE COOL, BE VERY COOL.’
We marched into the hallway and I looked around. Worryingly, it didn’t look familiar.
Still holding my gun against his forehead I asked (politely) if The Boyfriend….. er… actually lived there.
My hostage could only manage a slightly worried ‘No’
So I backed out, still holding the gun at him, apologising
profusely and left. The house I wanted was next door.
And so we had three students who never opened the door after dark again……


So this time I’d better go as something non-frightening. Something amusing and which could not possibly, under any circumstances be regarded as a threat.
So after donning my 1980 silver disco trousers, silver batwing top and spraying a swimming cap silver I shall attend as…………The Spirit of Ecstasy!

What?
Oh, it’s the model atop the Rolls-Royce bonnet.
I’ll give Mike a piggyback into the party so he can arrive in style…….



Music by The Cars please.

1 Comments:

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