Well, readers, you all should know (unless you live under a rock) that Halloweek has commenced! Now, since Halloween is my second favorite holiday of the year, I always make it a point to take my costumes seriously. Last week, I discovered that there would be a Harry Potter-themed party hosted by those god-like crew men. It was going to be four floors of Hogwarts heaven: sexy Slytherins, ravenous Ravenclaws, and maybe even a hunky Hufflepuff. And I was going to be there. I was not waiting in line.
Now, I wanted to be something creative. I was not going to attend this fabulous soiree as Hermione. I decided I would go as the one, and only, Moaning Myrtle. She was a desperate flirt with a penchant for bitching. Basically, she’s a dead version of me. I had the character and now all I needed was the costume.
My friends and I decided that this grand event deserved a trip to the Providence Place Mall. We visited every cheap store for girls in the 18-25 demographic and found all the necessary materials for a sexy Hogwarts costume. I had my skirt, my knee socks, even my Ravenclaw blue tie. I was ready to assume the persona of Myrtle. I even watched some YouTube videos so I could perfect her voice.
After finding some twigs magical wands on the side of the road, we wizards, witches, and elves were on our way! It was 9:15. Talk about an early night but, as they say, the early bird gets the worm, or in this case the jungle juice. My friends and I were sorted into our respective houses and the festivities began.
Our first stop was Gryffindor where we were supplied with the most delicious beer I’ve ever had in my life. Then, I guzzled a peppermint shot at the ice luge in Ravenclaw. This night was looking good until I turned around and saw, to my dismay, Moaning Myrtle. This Myrtle, however, was about six feet tall, covered with makeup, and very masculine—”she” even had a toilet seat around her neck. I looked down at my costume and back at his. I had been outdone. My awesome costume creation skills were no match for this dude and his custom-made toilet seat.
About twenty minutes later, I fell down the steps in my heels. My night had been officially soured. Myrtle Man even saw me and proceeded to laugh. Even trying to leave the party was like attempting to walk up the steps in JWW when everyone else is walking down, hitting you with their backpacks. It was chaos. While costume parties are fun, I’ve realized you will always be one-upped. You will be stepped on, poked in the eye with a wing, and attacked with an actual wand. I’m going to do the next one right and probably wear Keds.