My son is playing bass in a band for a gender acceptance fashion show at SCU tonight. The theme is cross-dressing through the decades and in time with Gatsby, wanted the 20s. So, last night after watching the Warriors gut it out a loss on one screen and the Sharks lose by a point on the other, we went back to the Eichler, or the House of Haberdashy, to dress the boy to girl.

I felt like my mom, who all through my childhood would spring to action when random friends, my classmates, neighbors for Halloween, her costume or theater history students, actors or clients for the Ball would drop by needing an outfit. When I needed a dress for a dance the next day, snapping my fingers, a few digs through the fabric boxes and by morning the Nancy elves had a dress. Magical! Albeit, reliant on velcro or safety pins to hold the dress together at the seams. Buttons and zippers were out of the question when mini-Queen Elizabeth (me) demanded a deadline. But it was better that way. I would take my girlfriends into the bathroom and have them time how quickly I could rip my new dress off and on. (Foreshadowing?) I felt like Wonder Woman! Velcro, hot glue, tie gathers, safety pins – the theater costumer’s best friend. It all worked from the front, just like a set.

We got home and we started digging through the drawers of collected jewelry from high school and projects always waiting to happen. The ceiling beams of our house are loaded with hats from every era, job or Muppet movie (My mom’s Gonzo head piece is legendary.) Roman looked great in a blush flowing floor-length silk 20s slip from a scene of Phaedra I did. In the hall closet, I pulled my mom Nancy’s fur bolero jacket from some play, perhaps Skin of Our Teeth, or Guys and Dolls. We found Grandma Johnson’s clip-on pearl and rhinestone earrings, a Venetian blue glass bead necklace and shimmering necklace we turned into a flapper headband. Delight! He looked stunning, from hoberman to Dapper Dan-ielle!

Update text from Roman from the gig: Slip rip. Works for me. Not for slip.

I rather figured. Oh well. You rippa deese, Eumenidees, as my mom always said.

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