It was Justine who suggested that me and my friends dress up as superhero’s. I’m not talking just any superheros, but sexy superheros.
Sure, why not?
I review the link to website where Justine suggests we buy our costumes. After a quick scan, I decide to pick Robin – the “girl wonder.”
That’s me, right? Girl wonder?
Pleased with my selection, until I took a closer look of the picture.
Exactly how short is that skirt?
Better yet, exactly how tall is that model?
I chuckle to myself. Let’s see here, Miss Five-Foot-Seven with a boob job? Or are you more like 5’6″?
One can never tell with these catalog models – the photographs can be so deceiving. I do have to consider that I am probably a lot taller than the pictured model. Will the costume even fit my long 5’10” body?
It could be a problem.
Nobody is that size!
Throwing caution to the wind, I order the costume online for $49.99 and crossed my fingers. God, please let the costume be long enough to cover my butt.
It arrives a few days later. Immediately, I go try it on with my high-heeled black boots.
Sliding the costume over my head and down around my body, I couldn’t help but think that the model in the picture must have been a midget. There was no way she was anywhere near 5’7″. Probably more like 5’5″.
The size I ordered was a medium – and daum. Why can’t they make everything in tall?
Maybe if I pulled it down…
It’s pleather. It should stretch, right?
It barely covers my butt. Great. I remembered that the description of the skirt was only 15″ long. It would be the shortest thing I would ever wear in my life. I would have to be really careful not to let it ride up and, God forbid, it shimmied up by accident during my night out. Taking a closer look at the workmanship on the costume I found that even the stitching was suspect. Would it hold up?
If it started to unravel, I would definitely be screwed.
Regardless, it was going to have to do.
Halloween night, I’m at Justine’s house getting ready. She chose to go as Batwoman, my partner in crime. It was going to be a night of pleather. Yup, I could smell it. Literally. And, knowing pleather doesn’t breathe, I put on extra deodorant. You know, just in case…
*SNIFFS ARM PIT*
The first stop of the night is a house party – it’s a nice group of people. I brought a bottle of Jack, so I pour myself a Jack & Coke and start mingling.
Life is good and, so far, no wardrobe malfunctions!
Around 11:30pm, we all decide to head over to the bar where my brother was working.
We walk in – I’m pulling down my tiny skirt, saying a quick prayer in my head and hope that my brother doesn’t freak out and notice that the skirt is barely covering my butt. Trust me, it would be my luck that he witnesses my ass cheek falling out.
But, apparently I was covered or maybe he didn’t look.
It would have been weird if he looked…
Ya, he wouldn’t look.
The bar is packed. We walk in and, because I am so tall, everyone is yelling, “Robin!”
That’s right! My name is friggin’ Robin…here to fight crime or at least score a free drink.
Yes, fight crime – that was my original intention until some drunkie staggered up to me in a drunken haze. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me and “the girls” bursting out of my costume. Not sure what he was thinking, but he slowly inserted his index finger into my right boob.
Yes, you read that right. He inserted his index finger into my right boob, as if he was testing it to see if they are real or not…
I’m standing there stunned. I’m in shock. My hair is getting redder and my blood pressure starts to sky-rocket.
I start yelling at the guy. His two friends quickly move in and start making excuses for their drunk friend. One of them even offered to buy me a drink – hoping that would shut me up.
Like a drink was going to make up for that?!
Then the apologies turned into, “Hey, you are really hot in that Robin outfit. Forget about my friend, what is your name?”
I look over at Mr. Drunkie who is standing there staring at me – swaying. I give him the evil eye. He’s testing me. Yes, asshole, the boobs are real. And I will knock you into next week if you touch me again. I’m so mad, I actually make a fist. This fiery red-head is about to lose it. I pull back my arm and get ready to punch him in his face, but then I remember…I am at my brother’s bar…and if you want to be treated like a lady, then you have to act like a lady. God forbid, I am remembered as “Nathan’s sister, who punched a guy in the face.”
Ya…not so flattering.
I decided to let it go – everyone was having a good time and Nathan wasn’t anywhere in sight. So, I tell Drunkie’s friends to back off and to get out of my sight.
I turn back to my friends, grab my Jack & Coke off the counter and managed to calm down. However, about 20 minutes later, wouldn’t you know, Mr. Drunkie had found his way back around the bar into our area again. What’s worse is that he’s perched his sorry drunken ass on the bar stool right behind me. I’m determined not to let him bother me, so I keep my back towards him and continue to chat with my girlfriends.
I figured I would just ignore him.
That theory worked really well until he……
GRABBED MY SUPERHERO ASS!!!!!!!
I’m talking full-on grab.
Like, a whole handful.
I spin around and yell, “Mother f******! Are you kidding me????”
I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the only thing people saw was me yelling at him. And, even as I stood there reading him the Riot Act, nobody stepped in.
Great, nobody noticed or they ignored it. People just don’t care anymore. I’m convinced of this. Fine.
I’m yelling at the guy again, but realize he could care less. He’s drunk and giving me the Whaaah?-What-did-I-do? look.
I turn to my friends and tell them I would be right back.
I managed to make my way through the crowd towards the front of the bar, frantically looking for my big brother. And then I spot him.
He comes over to me. I feel five-years old again as I try to explain what just happened. I’m so upset, I’m practically stuttering.
“And, and, and…then he put his finger in my boob, Nathan.
Nathan’s mouth drops open as I stand there and pout.
“At first, I thought I should just let it go, but then that fucker – I think you know him – maybe he’s one of your friends? Nate, he might be one of your friends. I don’t know and I don’t care! He’s a fucker! I’m so pissed off right now. And, and…Nathan, he grabbed my superhero ass!”
In an instant, I saw my sweet brother turn into a very, very pissed-off man. There wasn’t any more explanation needed, because his whole demeanor changed and he literally growled, “Where…is…he?!”
He follows me through the crowd back to the scene of the crime. Unfortunately the perpetrator he was still in the same spot where I left him. I quickly pointed at him and then took a quick step back, because I knew the drunkard was about to get…
*INSERT SPOOKY MUSIC HERE*
….the Wrath of Nathan.
Like the Leo that he is, Nathan roared over the crowd, “Matty, you are out of here! That’s my fucking sister you touched! You are out of here! NOW!“
Clearly, Matty didn’t know about, “The Rules.”
I stood behind Nathan knowing that he had the situation handled even though Matty couldn’t conceptualize the fact that he was being thrown out or even why. Matty argued a bit, but left without Nathan laying a hand on him. However, deep down inside I really wanted to see Matty get tossed out – the hard way!
(Nathan, you didn’t think I had that picture, did you?!)
Nonetheless, my night was fun. I was trying to fight crime or at least score a drink and my own brother had to come to my rescue.
Later that night, via text:
ME: Thank you for being my super hero tonight and coming to my rescue!