Had one of my friend’s neighbors been looking out their living room window at around 9pm last night, they would have seen an interesting sight.
The quiet, snowy suburban sidewalk was the scene of a pathetic parade. The living room spectator would have seen a woman wearing a flouncy skirt, fishnet stockings (that were falling down), an old white slipper on one foot, an ankle brace on the other, and a black and gold feather boa. This woman was being carried like Cleopatra by a man wearing a Native American headress (made out of brown paper bag and craft store feathers) and a man in cowboy garb. Behind the impromptu Cleopatra trailed a cowgirl, carrying a pair of crutches and one black high heel.
The cowboy and Indian stashed “Cleopatra” (otherwise known as Elvira Lynn Fekshin) into a white minivan for her trip home. The peeping neighbor would have been returned to enjoying the pristine wintery wonderland without costumed, laughing, slipping and sliding adults outside.
Little did I know how dramatic my exit would be when we arrived at our friends’ house for a “How to Host a Murder” dinner party. I played Elvira Lynn Fekshin, the owner and operator of the Pigeon Ranch brothel in the old west town of Roadkill. I wore fishnets and a boa, had roses in my hair, sparkly jewels, and crutches. I sat in my assigned place at the table with my bad foot propped on a Cookie Monster pillow on a small chair placed for my comfort.
Lee was brilliant as Chief Breaking Wind–leader of the Cowpai tribe. He made his own plastic “bone” and bead necklace from materials he bought at Micheal’s earlier in the day. I was mighty impressed. Hee Haw, I have western-lingo stuck in my head this mornin’!
The night was very fun–the other players were good sports and played their characters well. I will not reveal who committed the crime. Let’s just say it wasn’t the butler.
I do have to admit that I hate crutches. Crutches do not mix with one high heel (on the good foot). By evening’s end, I had resorted to hopping around, which caused my fishnet stockings to fall down. They were supposed to be thigh-high and held in place with elastic. No elastic can contend with a hopping old west prostitute making a trip to the powder room down a hallway. I finally decided to remove my shoe and wear a slipper, graciously loaned to me by Butch Chastity (hostess of the party).
When it was time to leave, I hopped through the snow and down the driveway, getting the slipper and my fishnetted-foot quite wet. It was then that chivalry kicked-in and I was carried to the car. I haven’t been carried this much since I was a toddler. When we arrived home I was carried inside by Lee and bro-de-mopsy, who was babysitting.
Once inside I took the borrowed slipper off. This morning, our dog ate it, that no-good varmint. Forgive me, Butch Chastity.