Ode to Narcissism

Nostalgia... or something like it.

One Halloween (I think it might’ve been 2006), I wore what has since become my favorite costume ever. I dressed as a Flapper. No, I didn’t wear one of those cheaply-done, pre-made, glittering monstrosities. I pieced the costume together myself - from head to toe: an ear-length black wig, a strip of black cloth with 1920’s inspired embroidery in gray thread as an accessory to the wig, a string of borrowed pseudo-pearls, a black slip, black stockings, and black buckle shoes. Yes, I’m very proud. Anyway… I was on the patio with the smokers, where all the good conversation usually is, listening in on and partaking in conversations here and there, when I ran into this semi-well-known radio DJ. We’ve encountered each other before, in shared company, but we were never officially introduced and we never actually spoke before. He must have been in a very good mood that night (or, more likely, under the influence of the well-stocked bar). He offered me his jacket, which he didn’t give me an opportunity to reject before placing around my shoulders (which was sweet, and which I was grateful for, as it was a bit cold). Man, his pick-up line was golden. I won’t quote him verbatim, but I’ll give you the gist: He complimented me on the authenticity of my costume AND he implied a strong distaste for those at the show wearing less (aka Immodest Snow White and Fishnet Girl). I didn’t sleep with him, but I applaud his technique. My hat’s off to you, Tazy.