Be Our Guest
Growing up I never had a desire to play "dress up". Somehow I missed the lure of cowboy hats and superman capes. I was always content to be just plain ol' me.
Clearly, there was a time in early childhood when (as an avid, avid fan of Batman) I would have to wear the batman mask and cape. However, you have to realize that was not a choice: as the child version of batman incarnate the uniform was duty and obligation, nothing more.
So, no. As a child I never played "dress up". There was an unfortunate event in my still-early-but-later childhood involving an older-sister-custom-sewn elf outfit and some pictures in the woods. I'll leave the mental image as an exercise to the reader. Let it suffice to say that I went kicking and screaming. I can still hear my dad's angry voice from behind the camera:
"Damnit, Ed. Peek out from behind the tree and look playful!"
So, no. As a child, I never played "dress up". Although, in retrospect, I do feel an obligation to mention underoos:
I (like most kids, I imagine) never understood that underoos were underwear. The package said "The Hulk" on the front. It was clothing for kids. It never crossed my still-growing mind that the shirt was nothing more than a green tee with the words "The Hulk" emblazoned across the front. To don such magnificent plumage only to cover it with "real" clothes seemed anathema. So I would constantly run around the yard as a kid wearing nothing but my underoos. Since underoos are not costumes that cannot possibly count as dress-up. Exhibitionism, maybe... but not dress-up.
As a young adult I have shied away from dress-up. Having to wear a suit and tie ever day to high school does not count. That was a uniform. In college that old cow costume I wore was not playing dress up. It was used at halloween, and that doesn't count. Even when it was worn in June, for no good reason, with a group of friends, eating lunch in a McDonalds, it wasn't dress up. Why not? The reason escapes me.
Several years ago when I painted myself "burnt umber" to play the part of portly Indian archeologist Dr. Arthur E. Phack (Art-e-phack) at one of my murder mysteries:
that was not dress-up. No. That was serious work.
So last Friday night when we had an old coworker/boss of mine over for dinner we were clearly not playing dress up. We scrubbed the first floor until the house looked orderly. Scented candles were lit. Smooth background music was playing in the background. A nice bottle of red was decanting and we had a ready-made tray of cocktails. Linda makes a mean crab dip. I was rather proud of my port-wine reduction for the steaks.
What I found is that Linda and I like to cook. We like to make different atmospheres for different company. We're a bit young at it, but I think we did a good job. On poker nights its "beer and pizza and come as you are". Sometimes a little "break out the smooth jazz and china" doesn't hurt either.
And, of course, none of it is dress-up.
-Ed
Clearly, there was a time in early childhood when (as an avid, avid fan of Batman) I would have to wear the batman mask and cape. However, you have to realize that was not a choice: as the child version of batman incarnate the uniform was duty and obligation, nothing more.
So, no. As a child I never played "dress up". There was an unfortunate event in my still-early-but-later childhood involving an older-sister-custom-sewn elf outfit and some pictures in the woods. I'll leave the mental image as an exercise to the reader. Let it suffice to say that I went kicking and screaming. I can still hear my dad's angry voice from behind the camera:
"Damnit, Ed. Peek out from behind the tree and look playful!"
So, no. As a child, I never played "dress up". Although, in retrospect, I do feel an obligation to mention underoos:
I (like most kids, I imagine) never understood that underoos were underwear. The package said "The Hulk" on the front. It was clothing for kids. It never crossed my still-growing mind that the shirt was nothing more than a green tee with the words "The Hulk" emblazoned across the front. To don such magnificent plumage only to cover it with "real" clothes seemed anathema. So I would constantly run around the yard as a kid wearing nothing but my underoos. Since underoos are not costumes that cannot possibly count as dress-up. Exhibitionism, maybe... but not dress-up.
As a young adult I have shied away from dress-up. Having to wear a suit and tie ever day to high school does not count. That was a uniform. In college that old cow costume I wore was not playing dress up. It was used at halloween, and that doesn't count. Even when it was worn in June, for no good reason, with a group of friends, eating lunch in a McDonalds, it wasn't dress up. Why not? The reason escapes me.
Several years ago when I painted myself "burnt umber" to play the part of portly Indian archeologist Dr. Arthur E. Phack (Art-e-phack) at one of my murder mysteries:
that was not dress-up. No. That was serious work.
So last Friday night when we had an old coworker/boss of mine over for dinner we were clearly not playing dress up. We scrubbed the first floor until the house looked orderly. Scented candles were lit. Smooth background music was playing in the background. A nice bottle of red was decanting and we had a ready-made tray of cocktails. Linda makes a mean crab dip. I was rather proud of my port-wine reduction for the steaks.
What I found is that Linda and I like to cook. We like to make different atmospheres for different company. We're a bit young at it, but I think we did a good job. On poker nights its "beer and pizza and come as you are". Sometimes a little "break out the smooth jazz and china" doesn't hurt either.
And, of course, none of it is dress-up.
-Ed
posted by Ed at 10:16 AM
3 Comments:
Please tell me you wore something other than just your Hulk Underoos for the guest... I have this mental picture of Peter Griffen in his underwear now.
*shiver*
I assure you there were no underoos at the dinner. And, be honest, Phil, you had the image of Peter Griffen in his underwear in your head long before you came to this blog.
8)
-Ed
Actually, when I saw the underoos, it reminded me of some shameful formative years in the backyard... why did they make us behave like this?!
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