As usual, everyone seems to throw costume stuff at me the very last minute. Heck, I don't even think about it myself until the bitter end.
This year, I thought, "Well, hell, maybe I am too damn old to be dressing up for Hallowe'en...." You know that nudging, horrible internal grown-up voice inside of you that says, "Now, really, isn't that a bit immature. How undignified." And you know the folks who listen to that little voice, don't you?
Then there is the other voice. The one that says, "God, I will look so stupid and everyone will look at me." And you know the folks who listen to that little voice, don't you? I actually don't listen to that nagging little (insert f-word here) prick very often. After all, I have made a living (and perhaps will continue to make a living) playing dress up. I really enjoy doing it. I think playing dress up is something more "grownups" should do! I can think of at least 2 family members who would benefit from "playing dress up!"
This year, there was the third little voice. This one was pretty insidious.
"You are too old to be something really pretty, like a Princess."
Ooh, that one was ugly. It know I have always wanted to be a Princess. The whole ball gown, crown, gloves, shoes, the whole jazzed up fancy rigmarole B.S. I love that crap. I think most girls, young or old, will admit that whole "look at me, I'm a Princess" stuff is pretty darn awesome. That is why girls go ga-ga trying on wedding dresses. They want to be the Princess For A Day.
No? NOT you.
Don't kid yourself. Do not even go there, ladies.
Yeah, I hear you. All you "back to nature"girls and "that stuff is stupid, old-fashioned crap" Women's Lib-Femi-Nazi ya-da-ya: "I am so above that unnecessary crap" crap. You are all so full of ka-ka-poo-poo that I cannot even stand myself. Or you.
If the Makeover Dream Team showed up at your door (after your bowels released), you'd be in that chair dissing it out with Nic (no "K") the Hairdresser and telling that gorgeous "she-never-gets-a-zit-does-she?" makeup guru that you "NEVER wear makeup but heck, just this once." You'd be pawing your way through that designer clothes' rack like a vulture at a free steak dinner.
I figured it out. Seven or seventy, there is a Princess Wannabe inside all of us. Any girl/woman wants to look nice. If you don't, you are in denial and you have issues that require:
a) a giant Margerita-sized dose of self-esteem
b) a shrink
c) a good girl-friendly slap upside yo' head by some righteous Black Mama!
Speaking of Black Ladies, go to a function where there are "women of color" there. Fearless of color or hats and/or formality. Those broads will put in a red hat with three zillion feathers and enough sequins to choke Bob Mackey and carry it off. I am sure there were about seven thousand African Zion Baptist/Methodist/Eucharist (Insert Other Religion here) Church Ladies' Groups watching Obama's inauguration and yelling at Michelle Obama.
"Where IS your HAT, girl? (Praise the Lord....)"
But I digress. As usual.
This year, Marty had decided, rather last minute, to be The Wolfman.
"What are you going to be?" he asked as I half-heartedly looked at the cheesy costumes in plastic bags at Mr. Fun's Costume Shoppe.
"I dunno. Maybe nothing this year. I'll come up with something." Insert Internal Sigh here as Those Voices were whispering in my head. It must have been the word "nothing." It must have set off some weird circuit in Marty's head. He got that glassy, almost pissed-off look in his eyes. I know that look. He is not leaving that blasted store unless I have a costume too. All right, I think, the theme for the party we are invited to is Fairy Tales. A fairy, a fairy godmother. I'm old enough to be a Fairy Godmother. They're pretty glam and they can ageless. You can be a 90 year old Fairy Godmother.
Insert Helpful Salesperson Mary Lee. Like a real Fairy Godmother, she appeared. "Can I help you?" (Yeah, you can make me 20 years younger and a Size 6...) Now somehow, she was so damn good, sweet, kind etc. that she persuaded me that yes, I could pull off a Princess. Even at my advanced age. By the way, Marty, from the moment we had entered the store, had been salivating over this Wolfman costume and had decided to buy it.
OK, I am looking at the cheesy fairy and princess costumes in plastic bags and suddenly, like an old hound dog, I am on the scent and on the hunt. Screw cheesy. Let me look at the rentals. NOW we're talkin'!
"How about Red Riding Hood, since your husband is going as the wolf?" Nah, unappealing. Could be funny, but nah. Then she asked the Fatal Question to All Princess Wannabes.
"Who is your favorite Princess?" OK, ladies, it could be Pochahantas, Mulan, or Rosa Parks, you've got one and you know it. I didn't even hesitate, pass Go or collect two hundred dollars, baby.
"Um. Uh..." (OK, maybe I did have to think about it, for about a nanosecond.) "Cinderella. Oh, and Belle from BEAUTY AND THE BEAST." Son of a gun, they had adult costumes for all the "Disney" Princesses: Snow White, Aurora, etc. I bet that even had Ariel from THE LITTLE MERMAID. I'll wager they could have duded you up as Mulan!
But still the voices were insinuating. "You're too old, this is stupid." The Voices had not reckoned with my pig-headed husband. He wasn't leaving until I tried on all the damned Princesses and decided on one.
The Winner: Cinderella.