Fancy dress and costumes are ace – FACT. I’ve always loved dressing up like an idiot. Once a year our village would have a competition during the carnival week, and my mum would throw herself into it with the enthusiasm only a woman literally clinically addicted to rifling through jumble sales can muster. Her creativity knew no bounds – memorable costumes include us being chefs from the royal wedding (complete with 5 tier ‘cake’ made out of what I now recognise to be some form of polystyrene roof insulation), Mavis Cruet from Willow the Wisp (who was, according to wikipedia, ‘A plump, clumsy fairy with erratic magical powers’, which is becoming more and more apt with every passing year) and best of all, when she dressed my loudly protesting little brother as Mrs Mop. Yep. A woman.
I don’t remember ever winning, but by god, God loves a try-er right?!
Husband must have had a pretty different childhood, as he HATES fancy dress. No matter though, because the rule of ‘happy wife, happy life’ applies in our house, so he does his duty when requested of him. So here are a few of my favourite fancy dress moments from the last few years..
1. For someone who hates costumes, he can be surprisingly committed when needed. Case in point was the birthday party we went to this Halloween, where after having the idea of an Adams Family power couple, he rustled up this little gem:
Using a mere two miles of wool! And wearing what we think to be the equivalent of about twenty jumpers. (Cosy). The beauty of this costume is that if we ever need a Dougal from the Magic Roundabout costume, we’re golden for that too. The other thing I notice now I look at this picture is *quite* how tall my husband is. I’m pretty tall. But he is a literal woolly mammoth in this pic.
2. For about six years running now, husband has been so convincingly enigmatic that the entire ten-thousand strong New Year’s Eve crowd in the Bideford NYE festival all part like the red sea, point, and chant “STIG! STIG! STIG!”. Some say he drinks beer through a gold-plated straw:
3. I feel there’s no point dressing up unless you actually look like a massive dickhead. I’ve no time for being a ‘sexy’ anything – what’s the point, when instead you could stuff Primark’s largest bra, and ram two pillows down your tights to recreate the massive arse of Kim Kardashain’s infamous Paper photoshoot….
4. Fancy dress prowess extends to the rest of our family too. Like when on holiday in Greece a few years back, there was a ‘Pirate’ fancy dress theme evening. No-one can be sure exactly when my sister became so drunk that simply writing ‘pirate’ on her forehead with eyeliner seemed like a good idea, but we all agreed that when after several more Metaxa and cokes it became smudged to simply read “irate” it was much more amusing. Rumour has it she was sick in a bin too. Winning!
5. Being pregnant can sometimes limit your fancy dress choices, but I’ve found this is only the case if you’re in the slightest bit concerned about looking ‘nice’ and/or ‘not unhinged’. Hence, Little Britains ‘the only gay in the village’ some years back:
6. Then there was the Most Fun Birthday ever… Husband was in bed with what later turned out to be a combo of swine flu, pnuemonia and an ear infection, but did we let that stop us going out? No sir. So whilst he was lying on his parents’ floor, hallucinating, sweating and gibbering with fever, out went Leeloo Dallas from the Fifth Element, Lady Gaga, the Hamburglar, a giant bee and a ballerina. Fancy dress is a great leveller I find. It also facilitates things like a flying rugby tackle down to the pavement of Ronald McDonald (a stranger), over-enthusiastic (and possibly unwelcome) hugging with Cruella De Vil (also a stranger), and a fair few lost hours being knighted in the empty streets of a North Devon town by the Knights of the Round Table (Yep. All strangers). None of which I recall clearly, but the pictures tell their own story…
And that’s why I won’t be stopping any time soon. Costume = instant fun. FACT.
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