Enormously belated Halloween revelries

Posted on November 16, 2007

7


Finally the haze of work has lifted and rather than commit secretarycide I will recount what actually did go down on Halloween, aeons ago. I know you’ve been biting your nails in anxiety over not knowing events of such import.

So I actually did go to my Halloween party as Mia Wallace. In my quest for verisimilitude I barely restrained myself from buying a L.E. 600 wig – which really suited me by the way – and just got my hair blow-dried straight and cut a little into a straight blunt cut. I did refrain from getting bangs (fringe), however, because I would have had to straighten them with a blow dryer or flat iron every day. Even the hairdresser, in whose pockets revenue would have resounded, advised me against bangs. I also bought a syringe and stuck it into my top. The pharmacist seemed alarmed at first when I requested the biggest syringe he had. Would you believe syringes are only L.E. 1.50? Good news for sick people and drug addicts alike.

I got home with my blunt dark straight haircut sans fringe and watched Pulp Fiction clips. I noted that she was wearing gold shoes and had dark red nail polish on, so I put on some gold shoes and raided my sister’s coffers for nail polish, because while I do not wear nail polish on my hands myself, she spends – without exaggeration – at least 60% of her waking hours on her nails.

I cocked it up, of course. I don’t have these feminine skills. I can’t do anything fancy to my hair, my eye make up is often wonky, and I know not of the wax. In fact, when a collegue yesterday said to me, “I like your dress sense,” I snarled, “Why? What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“I’m not making fun of you…I’m serious!” she said. Despite this, my female friends think I’m girlier than all of them – because they are Women of Substance, I think. The upshot was: the nail polish went all smeary and lumpy, and I decided to start over. I got some nail polish remover and took it off, but due to its liquid state, all that transpired was that it got spread all over my hands so that I looked like Lady fucking Macbeth. And then the nail polish ran out, of course. I indulged in a bit of theatrical hand wringing and reciting before rushing out of the apartment back to my salon, which was closed, naturally. I zoomed back to the pharmacy where I tried to purchase nail polish remover without actually revealing my hands to the pharmacist, lest I arouse suspicions of some kind of serious drug-related fatality. I got it off, half a bottle of acetone later, and repainted again clumsily, but at least I was able to leave the house.

An illicitly canoodling couple parked in the quiet streets outside The Party’s apartment stopped their demure Egyptian handholding to laugh and gawp at one foreign chick in pyjamas, slippers, mug, robe and newspaper; one man in short shorts, knee socks, sandals, and large black rimmed glasses, and one girl in a garish yellow and blue galabeya with accompanying headscarf (and my earrings which were borrowed due to their transcendent luridness). I looked the most like myself. Arriving at the party we were by far the mildest dressed, our host having donned a velvet, fur trimmed pimp suit complete with glass topped cane, jeweled glasses, hat and tie. It was a lot of pimp. Of course, there was an entire hospital staff, and one guy with a painted on black eye and a t shirt with the letter B painted on it. Innumerable gypsies, one “American tourist”, witches, one spectacular Little Red Ridinghood with accompanying Big Bad Wolf boyfriend in velour nightgown and real fur, entirely superglued together, I was told. I had no idea the Egyptian cloth market dealt in grey fur. I was pretty impressed – there were pumpkins and everything. And a beer bong! It’s hard to celebrate Halloween in Egypt with much authenticity. Only one person recognized my costume though – he even said “chapeau”. Every day I find new reasons why we should hook up – full head of hair, appropriate religious background, educated, has real flair for taking charge successfully, inveterate trivia game player…

I paid for my own authenticity later – now that my hair has gone back to being curly, its blunt cut and shortness mean that I now look like this:

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