Dear Captain Hook,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry your disguise didn't work... again. I really thought it was flawless this time: twenty-five year old female in party dress, strappy sandals, lipstick. Even earrings. Two of them and not of the large gold hoop persuasion. And yet they still sniffed you out. Eight years after the fact, too.
I can just picture it. There you are, cocktail in hand, clutching your girly clutch as the parents of your high school past approach.
you: "Hi, so good to see you! Have you met my husband? Do you like my girly clutch and my mascara?"
them: "Oooooo, look, it's Captain Hook!"
I don't know how they remember. Even little Bert bought your disguise when you picked him up at the end of the night and was fully convinced you were his mom and not a mustachioed pirate. Is it the creepy oddness of all that facial hair glued onto the face of a sixteen year old girl that leaves some sort of indelible mental association?
Not that the depth of your delicately nuanced performance didn't also touch the hearts of your audience. That's what I like to tell myself anyway. It takes the sting out of being told how much one's performance of Fagin was enjoyed when pictures absolutely prove that one looked exactly like one's older brother might look in forty years. Or now that I've seen it, Will Farrel as the Old Prospector on SNL. And did you ever get the adorable adhesive-induced acne mustache? That was cute, and just in time for prom, too.
"Thanks for the corsage! Do you like my pretty dress? Do you like my mustacne? Let's go dance, they're playing 'With or Without You'!! No? Really?"
And there are people who want to relive high school?
Grunt.
Fagin
I'm sorry. I'm sorry your disguise didn't work... again. I really thought it was flawless this time: twenty-five year old female in party dress, strappy sandals, lipstick. Even earrings. Two of them and not of the large gold hoop persuasion. And yet they still sniffed you out. Eight years after the fact, too.
I can just picture it. There you are, cocktail in hand, clutching your girly clutch as the parents of your high school past approach.
you: "Hi, so good to see you! Have you met my husband? Do you like my girly clutch and my mascara?"
them: "Oooooo, look, it's Captain Hook!"
I don't know how they remember. Even little Bert bought your disguise when you picked him up at the end of the night and was fully convinced you were his mom and not a mustachioed pirate. Is it the creepy oddness of all that facial hair glued onto the face of a sixteen year old girl that leaves some sort of indelible mental association?
Not that the depth of your delicately nuanced performance didn't also touch the hearts of your audience. That's what I like to tell myself anyway. It takes the sting out of being told how much one's performance of Fagin was enjoyed when pictures absolutely prove that one looked exactly like one's older brother might look in forty years. Or now that I've seen it, Will Farrel as the Old Prospector on SNL. And did you ever get the adorable adhesive-induced acne mustache? That was cute, and just in time for prom, too.
"Thanks for the corsage! Do you like my pretty dress? Do you like my mustacne? Let's go dance, they're playing 'With or Without You'!! No? Really?"
And there are people who want to relive high school?
Grunt.
Fagin
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