I love getting dressed up in costume. No I’m not talking about the bedroom you dirty minded people! I’m talking the kind that you can wear out in public. Although some girls get the two mixed up. In the town that I grew up in, Halloween parties were an excuse for everyone to go all out. It was great fun to see everyone dressed up.
When I was 16, I went as a fairy. The costume involved a blonde wig, floaty pjs, a crown, a wand and a piece of tulle that was masquerading as a tutu. What it didn’t involve was shoes, which, later in the night was to become my undoing.
Early in the night there was a pre party, party. Complete with Jelly Shots that the coppers wife had made*. They were potent and soon became the initiation to the party. My ‘terrible’ parents would only let me have one.
The town party was in the town hall. I don’t think you’ve really ‘lived’ in a small town until you have attended a disco or event in the town hall. It’s usually got polished wood floors, no aircon, and 1000’s of windows. At least the ones when I was growing up were. Not so much now. It also wouldn’t be complete without sneaking out the back (they always have a yard out the back) and drinking smuggled alcohol. Usually Rum, which I think kind of tasted like arse. You stay out late and feel bad arse cos you were the last to leave.
One thing that I had failed to factor into my costume choice was the walk home. My feet are pansies. I can’t walk barefoot on anything other than cement or indoors. They are so fucking sensitive. This doesn’t bode well for the gravel road that I had to take to get home. I decided that it would be ‘safer’ to walk in the gutter, it being cement and all. I was wrong.
The cement had corroded away and the metal was sticking out. The metal went straight into my pansy feet and ripped it open. There was blood and it hurt like a mofo. I was still half a block from home, so had to walk on my heel and the cut was on the ball of my foot. It got worse.
I managed to limp home. I was crashing around the house looking for tissues and a bandaid or bandage of some description. This woke my mum, who before that was in a party coma. I was sitting in the bath, trying to work out what the fuck I was going to do with my foot. Mum came in and had the brain fart idea that it needed to be washed out with dettol, in case it would get infected.
She insisted she would just dab a couple of drops on. Turned out her version of a couple of drops is half the bottle. It stung like a mofo. Funnily enough it never did get infected. The plus side to all of this was that I got to go to school in thongs for a week as I couldn’t possibly fit my bandaged foot into my joggers. Any excuse really.
Have you had any costume party mishaps? Are your feet pansies too?
*this was in the time when as long as you drank on private property, then it didn’t matter how old you were.