P-A-R-T-Y? Because I gotta.

For the third year running, I spent the Saturday before Halloween at a gigantic loft party. One of the guys who lives there (and this place is enormous. They have a full size basketball hoop in the living room and more than enough space to use it.) is an improviser, and the party is generally filled with improv types and various others. The thing about doing Halloween with improvisers is that the whole ordeal is painfully clever. The more obscure the reference, the better. I was lazy and broke, so I put on a three piece suit that is way too small for me, slicked my hair, chomped a cigar and carried a pocketwatch, going as a 'Captain of Industry'. It worked. It was all in the delivery. But this was the funny thing:

Any Improviser: What are you?
Me: I'm a Captain of Industry!
Any Improviser: Ha! Funny.

Any random non-improv girl: What are you?
Me: I'm a Captain of Industry!
Any random non-improv girl: Are you Winston Churchill?
Me: (sigh) Yep. Winston Churchill.

I should have guessed hers. Sexy nurse/schoolgirl/teacher/witch/Rainbow Brite/stewardess/Strawberry Shortcake/vampire?
I could tell from the hat. And the hoochie clothes.
Halloween: The one day a year when any girl can be an absolute ho with impunity.

Except for Shelby. She's a dancing rhinoceros. Of course.