I must explain before I dive into this story that I love faeries. I collect them ... I lived them... breathed them in... filled my shelves with their books and my walls with their images. Brian Froud is my favorite artist for that reason.
Naturally, every year for Halloween, I’d dress as a faerie.
After leaving school, I wanted to make this particular costume very special as it would be worn to work AND to a party.
I spent a great deal of time and attention crafting the wings out of wire coat hangers and nylons. I had plenty of glitter to go around of course.
Now... I really don’t drink much... but back then... I was crazy. Out of control. Not really an alcoholic but definitely sowing my wild oats.
I knew what I could get away with. My sister was the alcoholic. I was the “good” girl... but also the ignored girl... left to her own devices.
—I only ever got in trouble for being caught having sex with my boyfriend, and our parents... to open communication... decided to have a dinner... all of us together in his home. After dessert... He and I snuck up to his bedroom where he instructed me on the finer points of fellatio. All the while our parents were laughing and joking a floor below us.(I’m a little off track here).—
Now. My bestie invited me to this party at her boyfriend’s sister’s house. Parties thrown at this house were known to be quite legendary. I expected no less with Halloween.
There was going to be an open bar and a keg. They had an ice shooter set up in the back yard. I don’t know if that’s the name of the contraption because in my alcohol daze ... all I could see was this glowing block of ice... twice my size, on a raised platform. It was carved to allow a person to pour a spirited beverage down the ice slide.. into the waiting mouths of the drunken masses.
I could not tell you if I tried it. I remember walking around it... but there are holes in that night for me.
I swear I had one drink... it just happened to change colors throughout the night!
I was somehow coupled with a guy that was so tall, I could stare deeply into his naval. I don’t remember his name or anything else about him. I don’t even remember kissing him but I know that had to look hilarious. There was some point that I got mad at the guy and stormed away ... my little angered faerie self. By that time my wings had sagged considerably.
After a night of hugging the toilet (my vomit was blue!). I woke up on the couch with this long-fellow... I guess I forgave him...and then I saw my wings. They were unrecognizable. A crumpled mass of nylon, wire, and shame.
I think I stayed drunk that whole next day.
