It started Saturday afternoon. I didn't know what was wrong, but I knew something wasn't right. Kind of a dull, queasy feeling.
We had a party to go to Saturday night, and as of 9:30 am that morning we didn't have a costume. We've talked about going as Gomez and Morticia for years now, but haven't done it. Likewise Elvis and Priscilla. So, like I was saying, the day of the party arrived without us having any idea of what to go as. For a while we looked toward a helpful post from Grant Miller Media and considered going as victims of the new depression, with sandwich boards and a cup full of pencils for sale.
I found a list of last-minute costume ideas, and one of them was mummy. It involved buying a set of neutral long underwear and a bunch of bandages, then soaking the bandages in tea or coffee to stain them. MizBubs, girl genius, saw this and promptly announced that if I went as a mummy, she'd go as the archaeologist who dug me up. She also mentioned that it would be easier and cheaper to buy gauze and some burlap at a fabric store. Off we went, and by 1pm we had all our stuff. It ended up like this:
The party was a blast, but I felt worse and worse. I took some pleasure in the fact that, when I stood very still against a wall, or sat down in the room where the beer cooler was, and someone walked in, they'd get startled when I moved. I got mistaken for a decoration a few times. It would've been more fun if there had been small children to scare.
MizBubs had to drive me home, and by the time I unraveled myself I was spent. The effort of cutting myself out of my costume left me with a fierce headache. I hit the pillow by 11:30 and was out.