In Retrospect, Not a Great Idea

This is a true story.

I grew up taking dance classes. It started with ballet, and, over time, grew to include tap and character (sort of like jazz). I loved it. LOVED it. My older sister took dance, too. My teacher, Ron Trell of the Ron Trell Studio of Dance, held a recital for his classes every two years, and my mom loved this; it made it less of a financial burden for the parents to buy the costumes and it also made it more of an event.

This story takes place when I was in seventh grade, back in 1987. (1987! What an old-timey sounding year!) My junior high school was holding a costume dance at the Knights of Columbus hall for Halloween. I didn't know what to wear for a costume, and, I have to assume, the time was drawing nigh. My mom suggested that I wear my sister's character costume from the prior recital and go as a "cocktail waitress". In retrospect, several issues are glaringly obvious with the idea, but at the time, in the safety and comfort of my home, this costume seemed perfectly fine. I often pranced around the house in costumes, dancing and singing. This particular costume consisted of a leotard made of orange nylon with a V of silver sequins down the middle of the bodice from the neckline and up from the bottom edge at each hip. There was probably more sequins elsewhere that I'm forgetting. Every costume had sequins; it was the law. The leg opening was somewhat low, more so than a typical bathing suit. I wore this with, what else, brown fishnet stockings. This is a very cruddy representation of the bodysuit itself.

You want to wear this, don't you?

We could pause here and think about the appropriateness of a twelve year old dressing up as a cocktail waitress for Halloween at a school dance, but I think we probably all have a clear sense of whether or not this is a good idea.

Late October in Maine tends to be cold, so, of course, I needed an appropriate jacket to keep the large swaths of exposed flesh warm. Thank goodness my sister, Phoebe, had a ginormous denim jacket that I could borrow. This is what it sort of looked like.

Take a mental picture of this and create a mirror image for the other side. Done.

I ran out of steam making this drawing. Sorry. It was a really long jacket, hitting me at about my shins. To paint a bit of a word picture of the child inside of this bodysuit and jacket: I was a gawky twelve year old. I had enormous eyes, boney bones, braces, and never, ever, ever have I been a "cool kid". While I have grown less awkward through experience and a fairly well-honed ability to read people, back then I was at the solid end of awwwwwkwaaaaard.

So, imagine, if you will, boney, awkward, just-nearly-pubescent Poppy Peabody entering the Halloween dance wearing an extremely long denim jacket wearing an extremely long denim jacket with what appeared to be NOTHING ON UNDERNEATH. I had realized upon arrival that to take off the jacket would be to EXPOSE MY WHOLE BODY. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I spent the whole, entire night wearing that jacket.

If you're confused by this drawing, that's okay! The proportion of the shoulders is 100% accurate; there may have been pads under there, too. The fingers of my right hand are a little wacko, but I quite like them. I ran out of space at the bottom of the drawing app for feet. Just imagine whatever you want.

One boy asked me if my costume was a flasher. I have no recollection of what I said to him. I can't imagine it was pithy, though.

That was the night that I discovered that there are some times and places in which clothes feel good and comfortable and just right, and there are some times and places in which clothes feel truly, truly awful. I've made other sartorial mistakes since that night thirty-one years ago, but I have never again dressed up as a cocktail waitress for Halloween.