Three Hour Tour
November 5, 2015
Wowzer, Trump won! Seriously, I saw it for my own eyes. A number was called out and suddenly Trump hollers, “Woo-hoo!” and sprints past a gaggle of goblins to collect his winnings. That, my friends, was just one tiny ingredient (a droplet if you will) in the witches’ cauldron of spellbinding excitement at the Halloween fundraiser dance hosted by the Hickory Sunshine Rotary Club Saturday night.
Spine-chilling as it sounds, the hair-raising spell was cast long ago followed by a petrifying howl reverberating through the night: the Club was hosting a frighteningly fantastic fundraising Halloween dance. We immediately contemplated a foursome. You know…four characters. Not like we could be the Three Musketeers, right? Hence, arriving as the castaway crew of Gilligan’s Island, Dane, Judy, Rick and I and received rave reviews. (Who didn’t love that show?) Yikes, I’m getting ahead of myself. First we had to enter a magic phone booth for some “poof-morphosis” action.
Actually a phone booth would have been easier but thankfully I had Gina. She graciously came over to assist in my Ginger makeover. Slightly apprehensive about false eyelashes since I heard Kelli Pickler call them tarantulas, I wasn’t looking forward to arachnid eyes; which worked out since I decided to implement Plan B after we practically glued my eyes shut. Although, I did notice a gentleman at the party with tarantula eyes and made a mental note to ask his secret. Forgot.
A terrifying hour later I had eyeliner eyes and cheek mole applied. Mortified it was time for BIG HAIR. Polishing my nails while Gina started spraying my hair…spraying my hair…still spraying my hair. (Cough, cough.) Jeepers creepers! Poofy perfect and cemented in place with the appropriate volume of hair spray the bewitching hour was nigh. Mysterious red hair paint...from a can!
Meanwhile a startling metamorphosis was happening in the other room. Rick put on a blue shirt, khaki pants, and sea captain’s hat…wah-lah…Skipper. Dickens, that was too easy! Amazing, but I never realized how much he resembles the Skipper. Cool. Needing only a slight authenticity touch-up I sprayed Rick’s hair white. Our cohorts in crime, Dane and Judy, had a craftier hair-brained idea for Mary Ann and Gilligan. They wore wigs. Wigs! Now, why didn’t we think of that?!
Totally transformed and looking…well, I have to say we looked pretty dang awesome. Shocking though, how character conversion initially transported Skipper and I into an episode from the Twilight Zone. My shoe broke, twice! We lost the car keys and left the tickets in the car. Gilligan said it was simply a Ginger moment not anything cryptic. Well, alllrighty then. Thus, we proceeded inside. Instantly spotted, the ghoulish ticket taker wailed, “I love that show!” Gilligan smiled and leading the way announced, “Come on gang, we’re on a three hour tour.” And so the stage was set, like Alice through the Looking Glass, we enthusiastically strolled into the unknown. Mary Ann and I sat flanked by Gilligan and Skipper with a fantastic view of the door as cleverly disguised party guests arrived. The Mad Hatter hopped in while the Cat-in-the-Hat slinked surreptitiously about the room. Skeletons seated themselves close by as two of the seven dwarfs came over to say hello. Obviously, Dopey, Sleepy or Grumpy (not sure which) knew the Skipper. Roller coaster clowns rambled by just as the newspapered couple appeared bringing with them Mother Nature and her…um…husband? Who says Mother Nature can’t be married with children. After all, isn’t that where tree elves come from? Or not.
“Look at that old lady.” Mary Ann giggled, as I glanced up to see a man, okay, an old lady taking a seat at a table near us. Slowly the tables filled. Sparks of anticipation were flying because the band, apparently from a place called Oz, was about to start. Suddenly, a loud buzzer sounded accompanied by flashing lights. “Um…that’s not the band.”
Unbelievable! The fire alarm was going off. At first, not one creature of the night conjured interest. Ghouls and witches just kept practicing shag steps until the magic spell was lifted long enough for everyone to file outside because the police wanted us to leave. Leave. Really? But I have red paint in my hair.
“Oh Skipper, save us!”
“Oh Ginger, I’ll save you for sure!” (Okay, I threw that in for effect.) Dutifully filing calmly out the only lament I overheard was, “I hope it’s not raining.” Outside, huge trucks carrying more party goers dressed cleverly like firemen magically appeared. Meanwhile, everyone used the precipitation free skies to take photos. Me included, and as I snapped a picture of the Trump-master, being the budding politician he is he accepted total responsibility for the alarm when he offered, “I far*ed.” I shrugged, “Whatever! Whatever!”
After a short stint in the parking lot we were allowed to continue the merrymaking. Kicking off the dancing a very skeletal Emcee called out “Skipper!” “Ginger!” Yes, as the castaway crew danced the evening away with ghouls, witches, bikers, sheriff deputies, Cruella De Ville, paper plate guy, cowboys, Zoro, china dolls, flappers and a myriad of other creative, amazing folks whose supernatural presence made the evening an extremely memorial event, Rick and I already started scheming and planning characters for next year. Yeowwwl!
Can you imagine…a more ghastly affair?