I bolted upright way too early this morning with the thought: Holy Shit, It’s Halloween and I haven’t got a decent costume.
So I’m forced to go as Fat Elvis – Because the only costume I have readily available is the white lycra Elvis jumpsuit I wore when I ran (ish) the Las Vegas half-marathon in 2008. I got it in size small, never planning to wear it again. My stomach and thighs are a tad lumpier than they were eight years ago and the shitty thing about white lycra is how it shows every little ripple and dimple in full technicolour. To save face, I’m just going to pretend it’s all on purpose. The fat and the deep fried peanut butter and bacon sandwich.
This is what happens when I leave these things until the last minute – I’m forced to go with what I’ve got.
Last year was worse.
I was still working at that job I mentioned earlier when Halloween rolled around. In the spirit of clever satire, I chose to dress as a zombie working mother. I wore a crumpled and stained business suit, bloodied my legs under my pantyhose, messed up my hair and hid a spider in it. I finished it all off by powdering my face a whitish grey and smearing black shadows under my eyes.
Angela was still like, “Write my proposal for me.” and the HR Director still called me into her office to tell me that I’d used up all my sick days. She also threw in a quick reminder about appropriate office attire, but mostly because for Halloween I think she was going as an asshole.
Looking back, the response to my Halloween costume may have been a clear indicator that I wasn’t making the best impression at work. But then hindsight is always 20/20.
May all your costumes be well received.
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