Halloween drama

A three-year-old boy felt up my thigh on Friday night. Said thigh was clad in fishnet tights, in service of my flapper girl costume. I don’t know if flappers of the ’20s wore fishnets, but they are strictly required for Halloween flappers of the 20th century. The three-year-old was costumed as the most adorable tiger in the jungle. He asserted his authority, with a dreadful roar, to the housecat and to everyone else he encountered: doctors, superheroes, a Star Wars character armed with lightsaber. Nobody stood a chance against the striped menace. Sadly, the resulting screams gave passersby the innocuous impression that a particularly scary haunted house was in play, and no help was summoned.

His confidence bolstered by this show of power, the tiger strode over to where I sat and began rubbing my textured leg. Despite my appearance as a girl of loose morals, I managed to resist his charms. Besides, he didn’t have the courtesy to offer me a drink first. His parents whisked him away shortly thereafter. No doubt he needed to get home to sleep off that heady, dangerous mix of power and refined sugar. On his way out the door I saw him sneak his hand into the candy bowl for one last fix.

Upon his departure, the relief amongst partygoers was palpable. Finally we were free to be merry and make music. Stepping carefully in my heeled shoes, I followed my soon-to-be bandmates into the basement studio. There were two or three wannabe guitarists, a bass player, a drummer, and a couple of vocalists. We were sloppily organized and dependent on the band manager to get things started. We grabbed our instruments and held them greedily, expectantly. “Just press the button!” the manager said, but we were helpless. The drum kit appeared to be dead. Luckily a virtual substitute was available for the evening.

Once we got started, our Rock Band was unstoppable. Whether it was Bon Jovi, Radiohead, or Faith No More, we conquered it. I cradled my plastic guitar, listening to crowd’s applause, and felt that the evening’s purpose had been fulfilled. I had overcome terrible odds and would live to tell the story of being a red-fringed rock star.

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