Playing Dress-up

Back in the dinosaur ages, I loved to play dress-up. I suspect most folks out there have done so at one time or another. When we're small, regardless of gender, we put on our parents' shoes or shirts or hats and stroll and clomp around the house, carrying on animated conversations with our imaginary friends.

The time comes, though, when we understand playing dress-up is a form of fantasy. Unless it is necessary for our job (such as acting or performance art), we know we have to get on with the business of life so we put away childish things in our public life. Except for those special events like masquerade parties or joining our children in a game, we mostly stop playing dress-up.

But it strikes me that some folks never got the memo. They don't understand the rules about playing dress-up. Over the last few years an increasing number of individuals are dressing up as congressmen and congresswomen and heading off to Washington. Our nation is paying for their pretense and playtime.

Perhaps we should require uniforms so we can tell the real congressmen and congresswomen from the ones impersonating them. Or maybe we should pass a law against such impersonation. I'm tired of watching them sashay and pretend, carrying on their conversations with their playmates instead of doing the job.

I say no more playing dress-up. Time to work for real.

anny

Playing Dress-Up

Am I the only one in the world who remembers the days when you played dress-up? Or the times when you spent weeks planning your Hallowe'en costume? You know the one that your folks helped you put together with safety pins and wire and tape. Maybe a little paint. Maybe a pair of Mom's earrings or an eyepatch and you were good to go.

Clowns, pirates, gypsies, ballerinas, cowboys, Indians, and princesses were all popular costumes. Households had a bunch of props that circulated to the neighbors and back. Big sister's costume was updated and used three years later by little sister. That's the way it was. Everybody knew everybody. There weren't any mask. The candy bag was a brown paper lunch bag you decorated with crayons and Mom or Dad helped you staple a handle on it.

Now like every other holiday in the world, Hallowe'en is a commercial enterprise. Costumes, cards, candy, decorating...money, money, money. This year my grandchildren are discovering the fun in making their own costumes. They're going to be gypsies. I gathered up all my scarves--you know the ones that have been sitting in my drawer for five years--and sent them off to the kids along with the Mardi Gras beads someone thoughtfully brought back from their vacation and bestowed on me. Oh yes! Those dangling earrings I haven't worn in five or six years. The girls are very excited about dressing up.

But I've noticed a disturbing trend. Hallowe'en is more and more becoming an adult holiday with risque costumes, partying, and treating. Am I the only one that wonders when it moved from a children's trick or treating to another excuse to play dress up and drink? Some will say that I'm a fuddy-duddy. Perhaps so. Or perhaps I'm just past the stage where I feel comfortable playing dress-up because I left my childhood behind a while ago.

When last we saw Emmeline, Amarinda left us here:

“I’m Faeryland? That bastard!” Zoltan knew she had been abducted by faeries as a child. The scars caused by the faeries ran deep. Not all faeries were good. “How do I get out of here?” She ground her booted heel into his chest.

“Oh Emmeline, you should know by now you cannot escape a faery.”

Emmeline opened her mouth wide in shock as she had the familiar voice. “Oh no, it can’t be you.”

“Welcome back Emmie.” Mephisto smiled at her. “Let’s play.”

And my offering...

“Leave the chick alone, Phisto,” the dragon growled in a bored tone. “You know what Percy threatened to do if you don’t behave.”

“No one ever lets me have any fun.” Mephisto poked his lower lip out in a pout. “Here’s Emmie back after being away so long. I just wanted to play a little.”

While listening to the whiney Mephisto, Emmeline had rediscovered her backbone. She straitened up to her full six foot two and towered over Mephisto’s roly-poly body. Poking Mephisto in the chest with the purple vibrator, she yelled, “If you touch me just one time, I will personally shove this weapon where the sun doesn’t shine! Do you understand? Keep your creepy hands to yourself!”

Mephisto quivered, torn between fear and anticipation. This was not the same Emmeline that spent time in Faeryland long ago. This Emmeline was a magnificent creature. Just the clack of her quills excited him. One hand stole out to touch her soft skin.

Emmeline shrieked loud enough to make the dragon’s ears stand up in alarm. “Silence!” he roared. “Do you want the trolls to show up? Are you insane? And quit waving that vibrator around unless you plan to use it.”

Mephisto perked up at once. “Oh yes! Me, please! Do me!”

Emmeline snorted in disgust. “Not even if you were the last man standing,” she declared. Twirling the vibrator in her hand like a gunslinger in the old west she slipped it in her peeler holster and walked away.

Where will Kelly take the Saga on Monday? What will Amarinda find to write about? Check it all out on their blogs at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ and http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and then have a wonderful weekend.

Anny