Fancy dress? Yes!
Now, It’s no secret that I LOVE me a spot of fancy dress. Any time I can don a wig, a hat, or a novelty outfit and pretend to be somebody else, I will. I need no encouragement and since becoming a mother I think it’s gotten worse. For example, you could’ve classed a couple of my ‘Christmassy’ outfits as fancy dress attire this year. On Christmas Eve, my get-up was described as a cross between Pat Butcher and Cilla Black but I didn’t give a monkey’s. If anything it made me feel more festive! Yes, my entirely sequinned, shoulder-padded, cropped jacket was scratchy and nicked unassuming colleagues in the face when I wished them well and hugged them goodbye but again, I thought I looked faaaaaabulous and had made my peace with it.
You might say that one of the reasons I fell for that fella we call Fonz is that he’s not afraid of a bit of FD either. He started young and with some handmade help from his mum, was victorious at many a school competition, the most memorable, seeing him clinch first prize dressed at Vyvyan from the Young Ones. I know right? #MeantToBe.
A couple of weeks ago, we celebrated a decade together and in that time, we’ve attended countless themed parties dressed as everything from Napoleon to Ziggy Stardust.
He’s been Worzel Gummidge, I’ve been Cher. He’s been Beetlejuice, I’ve been a blood stained corpse bride. He’s been Julius Caeser, I’ve been a Geisha. We both did 80’s prom for my 30th and one of my personal favourites was my low-fi, charity-shopped Carmen Miranda to his 90’s Hawaiian Pastie-farian that we hashed together for a Caribbean shindig one summer. (My friend is Cornish…. get it Pastie? I swear it made sense at the time!)
I could go on but you catch my drift. The point I’m trying to make is that although it’s not for some, I never get bored of looking at photos of these random, funny and outright ridiculous memories of us behaving like a right couple of knobheads.
But it’s not just us now is it?
Nope, a few years ago when we decided that we could be trusted and were responsible enough to make a sprog, along came beautiful, cherub-like Dotty. With her pale skin and blonde hair, she’s a little angel that I’ve been terrorising with hats, headgear, sunglasses and itchy animal outfits ever since. She had no chance and no choice in the matter really, it’s in her blood! But the brilliant thing about Dot is her capability to look like the most pissed off person you’ve ever seen when dressed in whichever outfit or accessory I’ve forced upon her.
She was known to be quite a serious (as in her death stare would freeze you to the spot) baby in the beginning but she never cried when I messed, I mean dressed, her up. She just looked at me as if to say “woman, I’ll get you back for this, so help me god…” to which I replied.. “Hhhaaa hhaaaa don’t you look HILARIOUS?!”It’s not like she hates every minute of it now either. At times, instead of looking furious, she just looks bored, disinterested or confused at my stupidity. She sometimes even smiles with what I’m sure is a little respect and pride at my relentlessness in trying to get a shot that I can instagram of her ‘looking like she’s having fun’ in the latest new/old/borrowed/vintage/faux fur outfit that I’ve chosen to squidge her into. I particularly enjoy seeing her chubby straight face poking out of the Halloween outfits I parade her around in at NCT parties or family gatherings. Not for too long though as the looks we’ve gone for so far have been a tad warm. She tends to overheat fairly easily so we dress her up long enough to set up the photo opp and then whip her into something more comfortable to cool off… but then pop the head dress back on every so often when we need another belly laugh. Does this make me a bad parent? Personally, I don’t think it does but I do think I’ve got something coming to me that only she will deliver and I’m pretty sure It’ll be classed as payback in whatever form that may take in the future. Does that put me of? No sir. In fact, it only makes me more determined to get as much costume caper in before she gets old enough and wise enough to tell me to bugger off. Until then, she’ll just have to appease her excitable and overbearing mama and suck it up.