I had a lot of Halloween weekend parties in our wood-paneled basement. Here I am on November 2, 1975, thinking I did a swell job looking like Minnie Mouse.
When did Minnie ever wear a green turtleneck? Also, I’m not trying to hang myself with that necklace. As I recall it’s a Mickey Mouse necklace, of which I was inordinately proud, enough to hold it up for the camera. My friend Karen is a fortune-teller. You can tell because she’s wearing a head scarf and big earrings, universal fortune-teller gear.
One year later, another costume party. My friend Debbie and I went as Elton John and Kiki Dee, who were on all our radios singing “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” Debbie got to be Elton, in a purple satin jacket and glittered glasses, and I was stuck being Kiki, in my everyday culottes and knee socks. During our “performance” Debbie got carried away and sang the whole song, even the Kiki parts. Stuck with dumb stripey knee socks and no solo, I cried at that party and made everyone go home. And that’s a shame, because if you were lucky enough to have a Halloween birthday party in a cool paneled basement, with a dad who brought down pizza boxes and a mom who wasn’t sure about spreading frosting but did it anyway, the least you could do was let your guests (excluding Elton) stay for cake.