Woozle is sheer genius. Look what he’s gone and done now:
Figure I’ll take the opportunity to tell a funny story. Considering the mush that my brain is after a week of unmitigated chaos, it’s about all I can manage for you lot.
After the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, I decided to do Captain Jack Sparrow. Took some doing, that – had to make most of the costume myself, as it hadn’t yet achieved the kind of popularity that leads to ready-made items affordable on my pathetic salary. A friend sewed the shirt, a little patience with craft store beads and dollar store jewelry got me the hair pieces, and spirit gum, a wizard’s beard, and fun with scissors gave me the facial hair. Duly kitted, I went to work that Halloween, and promptly had my lesbian supervisor disturbed as hell. Turns out Johnny Depp’s the only man she’s attracted to. A lot of the other women at work demanded pics. All good fun.
I stopped by the grocery store for (what else?) a bottle of Captain Morgan’s before going on to a friend’s party after work. I’d just collected my bottle and turned for the exit when a girl sidled up to me, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and said in her sultriest voice, “Hi.”
I looked deeply into her eyes and smiled.
She took a closer look at my face. A puzzled expression, a double-take, and then total mortification flashed across hers as she figured out my actual gender. She dropped her arm, took a brisk step away, and stammered, “I’m sorry!”
I wasn’t. I bowed, gave her my best Captain Jack grin, and strutted out the door.
And that, my darlings, is why once every year, I’m grateful for being flat-chested.