I imagine that when a person’s life flashes before their eyes, it involves a blurry stream of foggy memories, punctuated by the important moments that shaped their character. For me, those benchmarks are theme parties. Everything in the last four years can be categorized into a timeline anchored by these classy affairs. 80s Prom was the revelation that forever changed the way we celebrate, Crackwhores and Accountants opened our eyes to the endless possibilities, and Sexy Historical Figures reminded us that academia and raw sex appeal are not mutually exclusive.
In the last two weeks, I have been forced to face my impending adulthood in a number of ways. I moved out of my college home, I had my first interview in the real world, and (PAUSE–a single tear runs down her face) I threw away all of my costumes. I don’t think I need to say which one of these was the most difficult.
As much as I tried to fight Sarah (who served as head dream crusher in the Great Closet Purge of 2010) when it came down to it, I really couldn’t make a strong enough case for keeping my floor length black gown with strategically placed mesh cutouts–no matter how well it had served me at Cougars and Zombies. The more I watched my beloved costumes mercilessly tossed into the giant garbage bag, the more I realized that the era of theme parties is coming to an end. As we move forward into real life careers and higher education, the appropriateness for a Robots and Sluts-type ordeal seems hard to rationalize. The more I tried to think of a situation where I might re-use my sexy George Washington outfit, the more I came to the sad conclusion that we might just be getting too old.
And then everything changed.
Last night, something amazing happened. I was in my room, minding my own business when my father solicited my advice. He entered my room, carrying a pair of old jeans and a pair of scissors. “How short is too short when it comes to cutoffs?” he asked. “I need to finish my costume for the White Trash Party.”
And then my mom emerged, wearing a muumuu and a pair of brightly colored parrot earrings. This led me to a number of realizations.
1. The theme party is alive and well, no matter what age.
2. When a grown-ass woman throws a theme party, and there is an invitation and an RSVP required, you better believe you’re coming in costume.
3. When a grown-ass woman throws a theme party, and invites her friends who have things like “jobs” and “houses” and “disposable income,” then not only will everyone be in costume, but those costumes will be hilarious.
Case. In. Point.
[As Mia Michaels would say, “That picture is everything.” — Sarah]