This year's parade was fantastic. Even though it rained, was cold (a bone chilling 60 degrees!!) , and I became separated from my friends for the finale, this year's procession was the best.one.yet.
I began my costume preparations a month ago, though, to be truthful, throughout the year I am on the lookout for the two epic dresses that would comprise my dream costume -- either the Tooth Fairy or a mermaid. Though both would be appropriately dead.
I have tried on more than 100 dresses that could be possible Tooth Fairy contenders. The closest one was a ridiculous wedding dress that, even used, was more than $100. I love the parade and I live for dressing up, but I simply cannot, in good frugal conscience, allow myself to spend $100 on a dress that I will likely only wear once. Although, yes, I will confess that had the dress been absolutely perfect and I did, without a doubt, look exactly like the Tooth Fairy that I have in my imagination, I probably would have bought it. A great costume is worth it. Luckily for my wallet, however, I have not yet found that dress. Yet.
This evening's preparations began about 3:00 pm, which was at least two entire hours before I even needed to leave my house and drive downtown. I felt so ahead of myself that I was certain that I would have extra time -- perhaps even enough to stop for tacos en route to the parade. Little else is more amusing than eating tacos dressed as a dead butterfly. As with most fun times, it is all in the unlikeliness of the context.
The self congratulations started much too soon. I immediately encountered a problem with getting my very tall wig firmly on to my head. Over the course of the last four weeks, my head has grown, apparently. So large, in fact, that short of shaving off all of my hair, a possibility that I considered and finally had to reject, there was just no way that I could fit my loomingly large head into the very small net of the wig. After yelling, shrieking, deep breathing, and a beer, my head did make it, part way, into the wig.
The wig debacle created several unsightly patches in my otherwise flawlessly white skeletal makeup, prompting further shrieking, bargaining with a higher authority, and another beer. Face repaired, it was time to go, with nary a moment for a roadside taco -- two hours passed in an instant.
The drive to the parade is similar to an appetizer. I got all of the adoring attention but in smaller, bite-sized bursts. Drivers passing on the right would whip their necks around in an immediate double take. While stopped at any light, surrounding cars would point and alert their passengers to the oddly dressed creature in the next lane. There were some moments when I considered skipping the procession altogether in favor of driving around Tucson, surprising drivers. Again, I find such joy in context.
After parking the car and joining hundreds of other skeletons on their way to meet up with their brethren, I began to worry anew about the state of my precariously perched wig. The wind did little to ease my concerns, even though I would put my head into the oncoming gusts in much the same way I imagined an annoyed horse or a cow must do. I managed to walk a mere three blocks before the wig came off completely. I carried it for the rest of the parade, it limply resting in my arms like an elderly chinchilla.
If I tell you nothing else of the parade, know this: more people took my photo and complimented me on my costume this year than in any other preceding year. It is a good thing I don't have to put that wig on again; it will never fit on my head now.
