I say to Anne, “I want a blue spiky wig.”
“Good luck,” she says. “Do you know what day this is?”
“Two days before Halloween. There won’t be anything left. Where are you going to find that?”
“I know a wig shop that has just what I’m looking for.”
“Where is it?”
“In San Diego.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you think you can get it by the party?”
“No, but if there’s one place, there must be more.”
“Why do you need that?”
“For my Viagraman costume.”
Now she rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose. I am just one step away from her withering sneer. “Forget it. What’s plan B?”
“Static cling, I found a web site with costume ideas. I’m going to take that shirt I ruined when I stuck the uncapped pen in the pocket. I’ll sew socks and non-cling sheets on it.”
“And underwear,” she says.
“Nice touch.” The socks and dryer sheets are easy. The underwear is a challenge. Socks tell nothing about you. Underwear is personal. I can’t use my everyday or my-going-to-the-club underwear. It’s too close to the real me.
I find two thongs. I got them because I thought they would be good to dance in. One is leopard print. The other is black with a thin strap in the back. When I bought them, I thought they would be like jocks with one strap instead of two. Wrong, the butt floss has a way of saying, “How do you do?” when I shimmy down. I reject them because I know Anne will look at me as if I am a giant hissing cockroach.
I look for a pair of “Where’s Waldo?” briefs that her mother sent me for Christmas. I never could get Anne to search for the little guy. When I find them, they turn out to be “Where’s Santa?” Can’t mix holidays.
I finally settle on boxers, black, with a tool belt on them, an obvious reference to our nation’s crack problem. I sew all of the design elements into place, socks and cling sheets up front, shorts a la derriere. I show Anne. She approves. Then I turn and reveal the rear view. She laughs. Perfect.