Anyways, the whole school was practically a ghost town by the time 1pm rolled around, so my friends and I decided we should bow to the peer pressure and get the heck out of there. And, to be fair, we waited until about 1:45 to leave so I think we did our due diligence.
Lunch was LONG. And fun. And filled with laughter. Just the way I like it. :)
Tonight, the hubby and I are going to a Halloween costume party.
People, I do not like dressing up. I am always the party pooper. Always.
I hate dressing up. Really. I also hate when invitations to showers dictate what I should wear. As in, "The bride's favorite color is purple, so please dress accordingly."
As in, "The shower begins at 1pm and we will be having tea. Please wear a big, gargantuan hat that does not fit your freakishly-small head."
Not only do I have to give up my Saturday (or, more recently, Sunday) to go to this function while my husband stays home on the couch eating snacks and watching TV, I have to dress up???
Yep. That's me. The girl with the bad attitude.
I've expressed my feelings to many of my closest friends and they all seem to understand where I'm coming from . . . but they still make me go shopping and try on stuff.
I'm like a surly teenager.
Anywho, the hosts of this Halloween party are our good friends, and the wife decided we should get a group together and be the Scooby Doo gang.
Except she gets to be the beautiful Daffanie (I had to look that up).
And I'm stuck being the nerdy Velma. (It doesn't matter that this is true in real life and how I see myself.)
I was down in the dumps about it until I saw this costume on Amazon:
I thought this little girl looked cute.
So I ordered the child's size costume for $18.
Sometimes, being Teeny Tiny pays off.
Actually, some parts of the costume are too big. The skirt is really long on me and the shirt is super baggy. It does not look like the picture even though it says it's the official Hasbro Scooby Doo Velma costume.
I replaced the shirt with another one I found (and that I can wear again) and I bought red knee socks. The end.
The hubby freaks out when I put the wig on. He says I don't look like myself and that my eyeballs pop out.
He says this to me as he's wearing this:
I mean, the nerve.
(Our single friend, who is tall and skinny and shaggy, is going to be Shaggy.)
If I am brave, I will post a pic of me in my costume. But the pic will have to meet my standards.
I will have to look cute.
And you will have to agree.
Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.
My agenda for today is to figure out if I can flat iron my wig. It's a little messy on one side from the packaging. I just don't know what kind of material this wig is made from, and if using the flat iron will set it on fire or not.
I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime, I'm having a sale.
Because everyone else is.
Click the pic to go to my kiosk. Everything is on sale - enjoy.
I'd leave you with something that Velma always says, but I don't know what she says. So . . .
See ya. :)