Characters and Costumes

I’ve always loved getting dressed up in costumes and pretending to be someone else. I sometimes wonder if I should be concerned that I derive so much pleasure out of escaping from my own present and reality… but then I get distracted by tulle and funny shoes.
Thrift stores are my very best friends.

Someday when I own a house, I’m going to reserve some space for
1) BOOKS and

I was asked to take part in our tri-ward Relief Society party by dressing up as Zina Diantha Huntington Young -her name just SOUNDS like a corset tightening. She lived during “The Gay 90’s” so I worked really hard to be authentic and true to that, and I think I REALLY came up with a pretty genius base costume.
0317151831~2So giddy and gay, my wrists almost popped out of their cuffs!

I just HAVE ALL THIS CRAP ON HAND, and I’m starting to believe that my meager closet filled with thrift shop cast-offs is actually a secret Gold Mine of Amazing… like a treasure map hidden in plain sight. I turned a black petticoat inside out, wore my pioneer blouse from the treks I went on as a teenager, tied tulle in the middle to hide the elastic band and added some ribbon with a cool little profile pendant.
And then I sabotaged my daughter’s headband, covering it with all kinds of lace.

But seriously.
I look like
1) Jane Eyre
2) Miss Minchin from “A Little Princess.”
3) Zina Diantha Huntington Young

The next day, I swapped out the inside-out petticoat for a plain green, full skirt… also leftover from my teenage pioneer trek years. I was

4) A pioneer.
I went into the Kindergarten class dressed thus and told the kids I was REALLY a pioneer and that I washed my clothes in the river. I taught them how to make butter in a jar, and they were so impressed with themselves. This morning, I had a text from the mother of one of the Kindergarten boys, “My son really believed you were a pioneer. He wants to make butter now.”
HE BELIEVES. That’s the BEST part about kids. They believe The Things I Tell Them.

“Coltran, here’s your butter. Don’t you feel AWESOME inside?!”
“How did you know my name?”
“I’m a pioneer. I know everything.”
The little girl next to him gasped, “Just like my dad…”

I realize I can also add some zombie make-up and be

5) Dead Jane Eyre
6) Dead Miss Minchin
7) A Dead Polygamist Wife (my brother’s suggestion)

Take away the skirts and add pants?

8) Calamity Jane
9) Annie Oakley

Add zombie make up to THAT?!?

10) Dead Calamity Jane

I think you get the idea. Which is:
my closet is an awesome place to be.

Yesterday, along with playing authentic pioneer and teaching butter making skills to gullible kids, I also went to parent teacher conferences and made meals for my family AND did MOST of the dishes. I was booked.
I didn’t take care of myself at all because apparently eating 2.5 Hershey bars while running around town doesn’t count as BRUNCH. Today I decided to get back on the Taking Care track.
I woke up and drank some Apple Cider Vinegar, diluted. It’s so nasty, but it carries with it a sort of WARRIOR STRONG TASTE. I throw it back in one shot and then pump my fist in the air.
It’s my way of telling the day that I HAVE ARRIVED.
I listened to soul food on my walk (did you see that?! TWO AWESOME THINGS AT ONCE) and then I came home and ate oatmeal with blueberries with oranges on the side.
I am TEARING UP this whole “Taking Care” thing.

Danny asked me, upon seeing the Apple Cider Vinegar on the counter, WHY I drink that NASTY stuff. I told him between deliberate morning-walk-induced huffs about it’s healing, miraculous powers, and he said he wanted a shot.
I went to shake it up because -like a true hard core Apple Cider Vinegaroholic -I buy the ORGANIC STUFF WITH THE DREADED MOTHER.

But in my hard coreness, I forgot that I am the living embodiment of an Anne Shirley/Amelia Bedilia Cocktail and hadn’t replaced the lid.
And in one graceless motion, my entire sink area was covered in stank.

It’s been weeks since Danny laughed that hard.
I went back into my room to change and get ready for work. For my walk, I wore the shirt I announced my pregnancy with Alice with.

Before taking the shirt off, I joked with Danny about scribbling the word “weight” under the words. But the joke was on me because as I tried to take the shirt off, it got caught on my glasses.
(so. hot.)
I threw my hands up in surrender.
“I love you,” Danny said.

And he really meant it.
I guess he likes his cocktails a little on the chaotic and nerdy side. I also take this to mean he doesn’t mind a closet half full of The Thrift Shop version of Misfit Toys.

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