Reasons why it's no good inviting Fran to a fancy dress party
When I was about nine, I was invited to a fancy dress party. My mother, with little time or inclination for making or buying costumes, sent me as a domino.
Method.
1. Take one naive, unsuspecting small child.
2. Take one old grey-white cotton pillowcase.
3. Take one indelible black pen.
4. Draw a horizontal line half-way down the pillowcase on both sides.
5. Draw large dots in the blank squares.
6. Undo half of the seam at the top of the pillowcase so that it can fit over the child's head.
7. Encase the child in the pillowcase.
8. Say 'Darling, you're bound to impress everyone. Have a super time.'
9. Send child to party.
10. Enjoy a quiet afternoon alone while your child learns that other parents make angel costumes or buy Superman outfits for their children and that sometimes life is the pits.
A quick Google search tells me that, should I wish to repeat the experience forty-six years later, I could.
I won't.
The only other time I've agreed to fancy dress is when I was thirty and our church had a 1970s disco. I dressed as a punk rocker, gelling my hair into spikes, caking my face in alarming Gothic make-up and attaching mahoosive safety pins to a black shirt and trousers.
There is a photo somewhere in the house. It can stay 'somewhere in the house' and will need to be destroyed before I die. I cannot think what possessed me to dress up in such a way and be seen in public. Think a plump version of 'Siouxsie' from 'Siouxsie and the Banshees' crossed with the Bride of Frankenstein crossed with a porcupine crossed with a panda who's been badly beaten up.
I detest dressing to order, particularly if I think I will look ridiculous. At a school sports day five years ago, all the teachers were asked to dress in the house colours. My house colour was bright yellow. Yellow is the one colour I cannot wear. If I wear yellow, my complexion changes hue and I look as though I have liver disease and need to be rushed to hospital.
I got round it by making myself a giant badge which I pinned onto a black teeshirt. It said, 'I am not a badge. I am a yellow teeshirt.'
Hats? I can't wear those either. They feel unnatural, like fancy dress even when they're not. I try hats on in shops and look in the mirror to find that I look as if my head has been visited by an alien craft made of felt.
My domino experience has a lot to answer for.
Method.
1. Take one naive, unsuspecting small child.
2. Take one old grey-white cotton pillowcase.
3. Take one indelible black pen.
4. Draw a horizontal line half-way down the pillowcase on both sides.
5. Draw large dots in the blank squares.
6. Undo half of the seam at the top of the pillowcase so that it can fit over the child's head.
7. Encase the child in the pillowcase.
8. Say 'Darling, you're bound to impress everyone. Have a super time.'
9. Send child to party.
10. Enjoy a quiet afternoon alone while your child learns that other parents make angel costumes or buy Superman outfits for their children and that sometimes life is the pits.
A quick Google search tells me that, should I wish to repeat the experience forty-six years later, I could.
I won't.
The only other time I've agreed to fancy dress is when I was thirty and our church had a 1970s disco. I dressed as a punk rocker, gelling my hair into spikes, caking my face in alarming Gothic make-up and attaching mahoosive safety pins to a black shirt and trousers.
There is a photo somewhere in the house. It can stay 'somewhere in the house' and will need to be destroyed before I die. I cannot think what possessed me to dress up in such a way and be seen in public. Think a plump version of 'Siouxsie' from 'Siouxsie and the Banshees' crossed with the Bride of Frankenstein crossed with a porcupine crossed with a panda who's been badly beaten up.
I detest dressing to order, particularly if I think I will look ridiculous. At a school sports day five years ago, all the teachers were asked to dress in the house colours. My house colour was bright yellow. Yellow is the one colour I cannot wear. If I wear yellow, my complexion changes hue and I look as though I have liver disease and need to be rushed to hospital.
I got round it by making myself a giant badge which I pinned onto a black teeshirt. It said, 'I am not a badge. I am a yellow teeshirt.'
Hats? I can't wear those either. They feel unnatural, like fancy dress even when they're not. I try hats on in shops and look in the mirror to find that I look as if my head has been visited by an alien craft made of felt.
My domino experience has a lot to answer for.
I think you'd be an adorable domino!!
ReplyDeleteMight have to be a white duvet cover these days - I'd asphyxiate myself if I tried to squeeze into a pillowcase.
DeleteIt's all right...I can't wear make up (found out the hard way) or hats (may hair turns into dry straw) or white (I look like I"m dead........easy enough to avoid, just like costume parties.....
ReplyDeleteI think I could probably wear make-up. But I can't apply it. If I apply it myself, I look as though I can't wear make-up. So I don't bother. When I get to the age where I'm not publicly acceptable without a coverage of make-up, I'll stick to going out in the dark ;)
DeleteI think a domino is far more interesting than an angel or a space man. And I think you could still do that look well. Lovely chortly post, as ever.
ReplyDeleteWhen I next get invited to a fancy dress party, I'll go as a domino. *vows to throw away all invitations immediately*
DeleteI don't think it occurred to us to demand special outfits , and to my shame can remember inflicting odd crêpe paper 'Easter bonnets' on my daughters, as well .
ReplyDeleteNow everyone's much more sophisticated , especially nine year olds .
I think expectations have gone sky-high and there's an element of parent competition I think is particularly unhelpful.
DeleteMy mother wasn't into the costumes for kids thing. I had a lot of boring Halloweens.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Janie
Have you made up for it since by trekking round your district in a swirly cloak and pointy hat?
DeleteI've never been an enthusiast for fancy dress, though for different reasons than yours. Essentially, I dislike having to spend any more time than necessary thinking about what I should wear. There are so many better things to think about. My preference was always for some sort of uniform, where I just wore what they gave me and didn't have to think about it at all.
ReplyDeleteYour priorities sound about right to me!
DeleteThe best ever fun I had at fancy dress was when a friend decided a group of us should dress as The Village People. I was the biker and looked like my brother who is a biker. My husband wouldn't join in. We danced to YMCA about three times with everyone cheering.
ReplyDeleteMy daughter's husband has a name that starts with P. For his 30th birthday they asked that everyone come as something beginning with P. One man draped himself in a giant tablecloth with plastic foods, cups etc pinned all over. He was a Picnic, which I though was very clever.
ReplyDeleteThat's genius. Especially as dressing up as a pterodactyl is so complicated, and everyone would question the 'p' element anyway.
Delete