Halloween…..the time of year when women can bring out the “ho” in Halloween. (I realize that there is no “ho” in Halloween, but, you know what I’m talking about.)
It was a friend in the Hen House who made the suggestion that the group dress up as superheroes. Of course we were not to be just any superheros, but sexy superheroes.
Sure, why not?
We were all directed to a website and asked to pick out our costumes. After a quick scan, I decide to pick Robin – the “girl wonder.”
That’s me, right? Minus the blonde hair?
I was excited and 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? It was easy to figure out that she was maybe 5’6″ with a boob job by looking at how close the top of her boots were to her knees. My boots definitely didn’t go that far up my leg.
Houston, we may have a problem.
Now I started to panic. I knew catalog models were catalog models for a reason. They were usually on the petite size, and fit into everything. They were perfect for junior sizes. I wasn’t no junior and I knew I probably had at least 5″ on this model.
This could seriously 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 this costume be long enough to cover at least my butt.
It arrived a few days later. Immediately, I go try it on with my high-heeled black boots.
Standing in front of my full-length, I slide the costume over my head and down around my body. Now I was convinced that the model in the picture was definitely a midget. There was no way she was anywhere near 5’6″.
The size I ordered was a medium and clearly a junior size. 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. This 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 the Hen House with the girls getting ready. Thankfully, one of the girls chose to go as Batwoman and be 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. Naturally I bring a bottle of Jack, pour myself a Jack & Coke and start mingling.
Mostly everyone dressed up: Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Danika Patrick, a Pirate, a Wench, and Captain America.
Life is good and, so far, no wardrobe malfunctions!
Around 11:30pm, we all decide to head over to my brother’s bar.
We walk in – I’m pulling down my tiny skirt, saying a quick prayer in my head, in hopes 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 his 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?!
These guys must have been either really young or stupid because the apologies ended up turning 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 isn’t anywhere in sight. So, I tell Drunkie’s friends to back off, and 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 strategy lasted about 30 seconds because he ended up GRABBING 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.
Typical. This guy was clearly asking for it and denied grabbing me, instead he asked me, “What did I do?”
Really? What did you do?
I turn to my friends and tell them I would be right back.
Managing to make my way through the crowd, towards the front of the bar, frantically looking for my big brother, I finally spot him by the front door.
“NATHAN!!!!” I yell.
He walks 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 dropped open as I poke him in his chest.
“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 and I’m so pissed off right now. And it gets better…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?!”
We both walk through the crowd, back to the scene of the crime. Unfortunately for the perpetrator, his dumb ass 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 Nathan is, he 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, the vindictive side in me really wanted to see Matty get tossed out, the hard way.
I was really hoping that jerk would get some of this:
(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!
NATHAN: I’m your f***ing brother!
ME: Yes, you are. 🙂
MORAL OF THE STORY: At the end of the day, all you have is your reputation, so it’s best to let your big brother do your dirty work for you.