Welcome to the wilds! New Jersey for me was like crossing the border into Tijuana. Sure, the new lifestyle was crazy, but no one would ever admit to living there. When my husband’s job was relocated here in August 2010, we both were frightened. Now we’re learning about life, love, and marriage in this strange new culture. Feel free to tag along for the adventure.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Originally, I decided to be a bad a** biker. I would dress in my mountain biking attire and wear a number of Henna tattoos. This seemed reasonable and cheap, but no one was enthusiastic about it.
My friends said things like, “You’re going to wear a helmet to a party?”
To which I replied, “No…hence the bad a** part of my title.”
By the Friday afternoon before the spooky event, I was still teetering with my mountain biking outfit washed and ready. I drove to the Halloween store for the fake tattoos…and they had none! I was in the middle of a costume Mecca, knowing if I didn’t find something I would be forced to wear a helmet to a party. You can’t have bad a** biker without tattoos. It’s just not right. So armed with a credit card, I wandered through the racks.
Then, I spied it: a black wig with the bold face lettering, “CLEOPATRA WIG ON SALE.” It called to me. For a good phase of my childhood, I collected books on Ancient Egypt, and loved Cleopatra. I figured I could convince my husband to be my Marc Antony, and it would be perfect.
$7 wig + $24 dress with gold streamers = awesome costume
I brought it home, donned the outfit, and much to my elated relief, the ties matched my golden heels perfectly. For a brief moment, I thought I had found a dream costume. I washed and styled the wig, and was ready to surprise my unsuspecting husband.
His reaction was not what I expected. His face suggested that I had jumped from behind a dark corner, dressed in a Scream mask and shouted, “Boo!”
“I don’t like it,” he told me after regaining his wits. My hubs can never be mistaken for a sugar coater. It’s not in his nature.
“The whole outfit?” I pouted. I really loved the dress with the heels.
“It’s the hair,” he admitted, and he was right. If I ever need to change my identity, it’s heavy bangs and black dye for me; I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror.
Unfortunately though, I couldn’t be Cleopatra without black hair. I was left with a white dress that suddenly seemed sluttier without the wig. In desperation, I called my sister-in-law and detailed my problem.
“Well,” she answered, “I’m wearing my costume from sophomore year…”
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Knowing my in-laws since high school, I knew exactly what she meant: fish net stockings, black stilettos, hand cuff bracelets, and a cop costume both low cut and short. She had chosen the college costume route, and so would I.
I arrived ready to party with my cop sister-in-law, my Donnie Darko brother-in-law, and other crazy paired couples like peanut butter and jelly, bees and honey,Waldo and Wenda, and waffle and eggs. I only incorporated one addition to my costume: shorts. I wasn’t about to pull a Marilyn Monroe. That and I figured I needed a few more points in the direction of an adult costume.
I stepped into the room and all eyes fell upon me before the bee exclaimed, “I love the costume! But who are you?”
Oh no, I thought. I had been worried about this possibility. I wore a hieroglyphic necklace and a dress more in line with the Greeks. My forehead glistened.
“It’s very Grecian,” Donnie Darko added with a nod, quoting our family joke.
“R-roman,” I stuttered still formulating, “Or maybe Greek...Goddess?” My nervous debate added the question. I was about to break into the explanation about Cleopatra gone brunette when my cop of a sister-in-law burst into the discussion, jungle juice in hand.
“You’re Epona’s Chosen?!” she delighted. We both broke into laughter.
“Who?” someone asked.
“A book,” we answered giggling. If you’re interested, it’s Divine by Mistake by P.C. Cast.
And I realized my husband and I had unintentionally gone as a dynamic pair. He was ClanFintan. In Epona’s realm that meant he was a centaur, but in ours, he was just one handsome tequila cowboy.