When I got home from the Goodwill, the landlord was there, just starting to paint the floor of the wraparound porch. He works 3rd shift, so he tends to work on the house at odd hours. We discussed the possibility of him leaving me an unpainted strip, since I planned to go out later. Around 9 I went down and gave him permission to paint me in, since I�d decided to save myself for tonight. Of course Fuzzy followed me down and dashed out onto the porch, running right out into the middle of the porch before stopping. He wasn�t pleased with either the smell of the paint or the sticky sensation on his paws. My landlord managed to reach over and grab him from his perch on the front steps, and I encouraged him to just toss the Fuzzman from the steps through the door. It was 5 feet, tops. He was mortified at my suggestion and convinced it would hurt the cat, though I said he could just chuck him underhand, not pass him like a football. But alas, he wouldn�t dream of it, and instead had the brilliant idea that he would grab a board, we�d hold it between us, and he�d put Fuzzy on it and let him walk across the board to me.
Uh huh. Though he�s very fond of Fuzz, he�s clearly not lived with a cat. Fuzzy took a few steps, but he�s not exactly sensible or obedient. I leaned out to catch him just as he was diving off the middle of the board. The little hairy bastard had his feet washed with soap and water, and all was well. As usual, I�m confident none of us learned any sort of lesson from the escapade, but I take comfort in the thought that antics at my doorstep continue to keep the neighbors amused.
But back to the bandages. Give me a few hours, and I�ll be decked out as a leperchaun. No, I didn�t misspell.
I secretly hate this holiday, and it has far less to do with any moral objection than it does to drama queen tendencies and resistance to pressure. I love to dress up, and god knows the thought of being someone else for a day is more than a little attractive.
But just as I always needed to be a star in the play, I need a great costume. And that�s a lot of pressure. And commitment to plan and follow through with it.
Marzetta and I actually had fabulous luck at the costume shop and at a nearby thrift shop early this week, so it�s come together well. I have the most darling bright green 50s vintage velvet jacket, complete with Peter Pan collar, 3/4 sleeves and giant buttons. We found some green faux alligator shoes with gold trim and tassel ties at the thrift, too. And of course the elf ears and green top hat. Coach will be doing my makeup, and I have a small stash of extra fingers and such, which will fall out of bandaged limbs.
People �round here are still talking about the Shriner costume last year, but I think this one will take the cake. Or at least the punch.
To be perfectly honest, though, I�d rather go home early, curl up on the sofa and watch television. I�m pleased that the concept of the costume and that the pieces I�ve assembled are all brilliant, but I don�t feel much like following through. I can�t have a date so far in advance. If Halloween had just called last night and suggested the possibility of hooking up sometime tonight, I�d be fine. But now there�s so much expectation�it can�t possibly end well.