With Halloween approaching, my sister and I were recently chatting on Facebook about costumes. She was planning to go as Frida Kahlo, the Mexican painter.
Me: Got it.
Fortunately, she lives in Ann Arbor, so most of her (well-educated and artistic) friends would be able to put that together. If I tried to pull that off in DC, where things run a bit more political and less cerebral, I think people would just think I was aiming going as a transvestite with a monkey fetish.
A few days later, I chatted her again.
Me: How is the costume progressing? Alicia: It’s not. Too expensive. I’m at $35 already and I don’t even have the wig or the monkey. Pulling the plug. Besides, I don’t know where I would get a monkey. Me: What about that monkey you had when we were kids? Alicia: ??? Me: The puppet. Where you velcroed its arms around your neck and stuck your hand up it? Alicia: I had this monkey? Me: Yes. It had a squeaker in its mouth you could squeeze. Alicia: Sounds like you were jealous of my monkey. You remember it a little too well. Me: I was. You wouldn’t let me play with it. Alicia: Had I known, I would’ve worn it around constantly.Me: No doubt.
And because older sisters never outgrow their urge to taunt and get a rise out of their younger siblings, the next day this is what she posted on my Facebook Wall:
In case you’re curious, her latest costume idea is even better than Frida and would play well anywhere. Any guesses?
That’s right – she’s going as a bad ventriloquist. We’ve already decided that has the potential for sheer comedy after a few glasses of wine.
The best part? She’s been practicing saying, “Who’s your daddy?” through gritted teeth all week, which – even without the puppet – is pretty awesome.
pithypants 