Well, Halloween is almost upon us, and I don’t have a costume, mostly because my duties tomorrow night - operating the trap door on our front porch, pulling the lever just as the 3rd “t” in “Trick or Treat!” trips off of young tongues - won’t require one. So, I’m providing a sampling of prior costumes I’ve donned, usually at the last second, during the years before I was put on the Liquor Control Board’s no-fly list, when we’d actually go out.
This first one was really impromptu. I learned we were going somewhere just as I got home from work. Brainstorming, I removed the sheepskin seatcover from my car, pulled it over my head through the hole where the headrest goes, and pondered. I ended up wadding up newspapers and tape to form a pair of huge breasts, draped yellow ribbon over my head to represent blond hair, and went as the Dolly (as in Parton) Llama. OK, the guy on the left is our neighbor, married to our dear friend, but the look on his face still creeps me out. I have a ways to go before I apprehend that ”coquetry” doesn’t involve wickets and mallets. (Click each photo to enlarge).
This costume was actually planned - I purchased bits of it between the U District and Fremont, and wore it to a musical event, Ghoulbooty, that used to be held at the Elysian on Capitol Hill.
This next one was semi-planned. I had purchased the leather miniskirt at the Fremont street market with a vague idea of using it for a costume. Then, as we planned to go out, again, to Ghoulbooty, Mrs. Perils presented me with an array of accoutrement from her personal wardrobe. Sorry about the belly - I can see liposuction and bikini wax in my future. Sometime around this Halloween, a story broke about the availability, for mucho dinero, of eggs from supermodels for in vitro fertilization (one presumes they wouldn’t make much of an omelette). On our way into the Elysian, we encountered a statuesque young woman with a sorta Easter basket on her arm labeled “Supermodel Eggs”. Later that evening, as I was standing in line to order a drink, a woman behind me bit me on the shoulder. I was flattered, and a little tingly. That’s never happened to me when I wasn’t cross-dressing.