Lock box Anne had confused her memories. During an Easter celebration at the recreation center where my mom had worked, Mom had been the princess. My sisters and I dressed as hobo clowns.
So the mystery remained as dark as a Halloween night as to what I wore as a child. Though I did recall one year when I went as a ghost, with the white sheet, the holes for eyes, which certainly wasn’t when my creativity streak first emerged. But later, in high school, I found myself through costuming. Senior year I went as a Q-tip, dressed in a powder blue sweat suit with cotton balls glued to a shower cap and my shoes. People thought I was a cloud, but laughed when they heard my answer. Then there was Static Cling. I wore all black with single socks, underwear, and dryer sheets pinned to me. Once I had moved to San Francisco, where as one friend recently put it, “naked is an outfit,” I found inspiration. I dressed as Freudian slip, which was as simple as wearing a slip and a banner that read Freudian across it. The next year in Vegas, I went as Barbarella and stumped some people who had missed that early slice of Jane Fonda’s career. I wore my roommates’ handmade chain mail, gold boots, carried a wicked gun, and managed to have the exact length and color hair. After that, I was Strawberry Shortcake. I went to such extremes that I managed to hunt down Strawberry Shortcake shoelaces and strawberry body spray, to imitate how the dolls had smelled, which put smiles on the faces of passer-bys who squealed, “She even smells like Strawberry Shortcake.” Then last year I googled “break-up” and found my muse in Break-Up Girl, which was a hit since I was only two weeks out from my own, and desperately seeking a reason to laugh.
This year I can’t tell you what I’m going as because it’s a little too X-rated. I can tell you that the idea came borrowed from a co-worker, and that I found the perfect cherry red vinyl strapless top that zips up the back and fits like a glove. I can’t tell you because I need to concentrate on more important things, like the costume’s accessories, and how in the hell I’m going to tell my mom when she asks.
