I have plenty of haves, but I am not okay and I’m so tired of having to act like I am. All of the damn time. Or any of the damn time. You know that noble brave face? There are days when all you want to do is scrub off that thick coat of bullshit war paint and scream. Because there’s no shade of foundation that will flawlessly cover your pain.
Maybe that’s why dressing up like somebody else was easier than I’d expected this year. Come as you aren’t. Let your freak flag fly. Not Halloween, but a chance to gather, wear whatever, drink and be merry(ish). It had been a couple of years since Bell’s had hosted its annual Eccentric Day. Like just about everything else, the pandemic had leashed us from unleashing our alter egos.
I went with my neighbor and a few of her girlfriends. It was her fortieth birthday and they’d decided to go as their own brand of the Golden Girls. Old ladies with silvery permed wigs and pearls and sensible shoes. I was the odd woman out. I’d decided on my own theme, a celebration of Schitt’s Creek. I wanted to champion all things Roses and I didn’t have to invest too much to complete my getup. That show was and continues to be a life preserver for me. Watching the Roses on repeat has given me a genuine reason to smile, to laugh, and yeah, to sob. I find the slow and steady transformation of their family transfixing and positively magical. (And I might have developed a lifelong crush on Dan Levy.)
So
I wore a black and white dress and bought a flamingo-pink wig for Moira. I
crafted a homemade headband with hot glue and gold ribbon and wore a knock-off “A”
necklace for Alexis. I thew on my “Ew, David” t-shirt over the dress and laced
up Converse All-Stars (although white vs black) for David. I went to Goodwill
and picked up a gently used gray sport coat and borrowed a silky bandana from
my neighbor for a makeshift pocket square for Johnny. I smeared on bright-red
lipstick and did my best to recreate Moira’s over-smoked smoky eyes. I had the
good fortune of owning black and white glasses that somehow just worked, with
the added bonus of allowing this middle-aged woman to gloriously see.
Eccentric Day isn’t really about putting together a perfect costume though. It’s about channeling that inner non-you, the devil-may-care version of yourself you long to be, even if only for one day. Or half an afternoon.
I’m
not sure a single person understood what I was going for and that’s okay. I’m a
bit of a wallflower and flying under the radar is my comfort zone. But
sometimes even this introverted smalltown Midwesterner throws caution to the
wind. Sometimes, even when intimidated or unsure or terrified, I fold it the
fuck in and just see what happens. And right now, if I could be not me, I probably
would be the Roses. I’d have Moira’s winsome vernacular, David’s wit, Alexis’
confidence and wardrobe and Johnny’s steadfast optimism.
An amalgamation of that fictional family sounds like a slice of heaven or at least a welcome escape to the Galapagos. Too bad that isn’t the way life works. Being alive IRL means having to be and live with me, even the scared and confused and broken me. Even the unanticipated me that I now find myself becoming whether I like it or not.
Food preferences change. Homes change. Kids grow into tweens and change. Dogs grow old and die too soon and change into different dogs because you’ll never consider the idea of living without one. Jobs change. Relationships with the people you love more than anything change. Haves change to have nots.
Evolution is inevitable. That’s what makes life wonderful and terrible.
Despite the vintage glow you see on Instagram, everything is not always coming up roses. Over the last two years I’ve learned it’s best to buckle up and get good and uncomfortable with that fact. Because one thing’s for certain, it’s going to be a dangersome ride. One day you’ll find yourself tits deep in a bog and you’ll wonder, how exactly did I get here?
