You either love or hate fancy dress parties. I’m in the latter camp. They always intimidate me because I have no imagination. Hmm, possibly not a good admission for a fiction writer.
Okay, let me be a bit more specific. I’ve never been a great fan of reality and have spent most of my life lost in elaborate daydreams. These have involved a conjuring up a whole host of characters from pretend friends, families, and lovers to make-believe monsters, demons, fairies and heroes. My fantasies have transcended space (think alien planets, intrepid explorers) and time (think the Roman Empire and gladiators…mmm, well maybe not – don’t ask). Yes I am a very sad person. No wonder I became a writer.
When I say I have ‘no imagination’ I mean that I am quite incapable of taking a few pipe cleaners, a tube of glue and some lace doilies then cleverly transforming them into a Lady Macbeth costume. Usually I spend weeks trying to come up with an original idea for an outfit before at the last minute going to a fancy dress shop and hiring the only thing they have left. Like, for example, a Grim Reaper costume consisting of a black cloak about a half metre too long which I trip over all evening, an unconvincing plastic scythe which makes drinking difficult and dancing impossible and a mask with a face resembling ‘The Scream’ which ensures that no-one wants to dance with me anyway (naso labial lines are just so unattractive).
If you’ve had some annoying, embarrassing or ghastly fancy dress party experience I’d love to hear about it and will post the best /worst here. If, on the other hand, you are one of those terribly clever people who can run up an asparagus costume using only recycled toilet rolls, some paper clips and grass clippings then you’ve come to the wrong website to boast about your talents. Just push off elsewhere. Okay? Have I made myself clear?
So as I was saying any annoying, embarrassing or ghastly experiences welcome. The more excruciating the better. C’mon there must be someone out there who’s turned up in the wrong costume to the wrong party at the wrong time. I can’t be the only eejit. Can I?
