I checked my Energizer Bunny costume to make sure it was intact, reglued one of the pom-poms onto its drumstick, touched up a few rips, and I was good to go.
After 9pm, I picked up Warren's photos from the drug store, changed into a tank top and shorts, pulled back my hair, and left for the Cardinal's Halloween costume contest and to hopefully collect a prize. The E Bunny costume has more than paid for itself, winning every corporate contest in which I've entered it and one in which I didn't.
There were only three things that could keep me from winning:
- The judges wanted to see "sexy" costumes on the women and didn't care about quality.
- The judges favored a friend of theirs to win.
- The judges thought my costume was storebought. </ul>
I assembled the costume in the 40F-ish parking lot because I remembered the bathroom there was too small to get the costume in or out of. I also remembered rather quickly why I wore a tank top and shorts in 40F weather; that costume was warm.
I had set my car keys up so I could tap my pocket on my shorts and lock the car through the costume. Once assembled, I did that. I then entered the Cardinal, had my photo taken, and then entered the bar where the contest was taking place.
This is when I remembered that I don't normally wear glasses and that glasses fog up when the temperature changes. Joy. I'm in a dimly-lit bar full of people of varying levels of intoxication and I'm trying to find my way to somewhere out of the way so I can lean (I can't sit in the E Bunny costume; in fact, it's designed so I have to shuffle in it, forcing me to move in a way closer to the way the "real" E Bunny moves). I found a tall barstool-heigh chair on the edge of the dance floor and leaned, but stayed in character, beating the drum in time with the band and beating softly or silently between songs.
A few times patrons came over to dance with me, so I danced in character, twirling my drumstick and spinning around from time to time. The patrons seemed to really like my costume. So did the band; they mentioned it a few times. The band took a break, and I realized I had to endure another hour and 15 minutes of the costume and it was getting "Hot, Hot, Hot" just like the last number the band had played. I was grateful the costume didn't allow for me to buy stuff, as I couldn't really afford to do so.
During the break I found the venthole at the bottom of the head and tilted the sunglasses so steam could get out through the eyeholes and the sunglasses could defog while still covering my eyeholes. As I briefly stepped outside to cool off I saw The Competition: A midget dressed in a Santa Claus suit. Most of the patrons and I figured the competition would be between him and me.
Next we had to parade around the bar and past the judges. The other patrons had decided I was to lead the way despite the fact that a) I couldn't see where the hell I was going through those sunglasses and b) I moved slower than everyone except the midget in the Santa suit.
We paraded, and then we were assembled at the dance floor. My next struggle was to get from the front of the dance floor to the back where I could rest my butt on that high chair. I wound up having to "dance" my way across, in character, and it wasn't easy.
Finally...the moment of truth:
- Third place: "Self-absorbed." A woman wearing a sort of clown outfit with sponges taped to it. Clearly a friend of the judges from the way they all reacted.
- Second place: "The French Maid." There was polite clapping as a gal in a clearly storebought skimpy outfit claimed her prize. Applause was again polite but subdued.
- First place: "The Midget in the Santa Claus Suit." The applause was thunderous, and this guy really did deserve it.
I couldn't wait to get out of the bar. I was H-O-T. I got to the car, took the costume off and just shoved it into the back seat. I was soaking wet with sweat. I then called Warren on my cell phone to see where he was. He turned out to be inside the Cardinal's coffee shop at the counter and asked me to come back in. I soooo did not want to show my face after that awful showing.
As I entered the same women who greeted me at the door said, "I bet you were The Bunny, weren't you?"
"Yes," I replied.
"We loved your costume!" one of them exclaimed.
"Then why didn't I win anything?"
"The French Maid was showing two inches of ass cheek, and the judges were all guys."
I sat next to Warren and learned I'd gotten "honorable mention," which meant I had a comped meal. Coolness. It wasn't a total loss.
Sometime in the next week I'll go back there (probably Sunday) to pick up the photo of me in costume so everyone can see it.
Meanwhile, I now feel the agony of dancing in a hot costume for over an hour.