Dria and I were Napoleon Dynamite and Deb for Halloween. After scouring the racks at DI, we found everything we needed--goofy t-shirts, ridiculous yellow pants that look like they're from the 80s, a teal fanny pack--that is, everything but two of the most crucial elements to my costume: Napoleon's glasses and his moon boots.
The glasses brought us some woe, but we finally found the perfect pair at our local Walgreen's--no sweat. No, it was the boots that gave us, and by "us" I mean "me," the real grief.
Moon boots are rare these days (believe it or not, clothing that was popular in the eighties isn't very easy to come by for some reason), so we had to improvise. All I had was a pair of giant skater shoes that I seem to think are normal, some old brown sneakers that have been falling apart for over a year, and various worn-out or faded dress shoes. (Apparently, I need to pay a visit to the mall... or at least get some shoe polish.) My roommate had some boots, but they were way too not dorky. Finally, I remembered that I had some snow boots at my parents' house that would probably work perfectly for my intended purpose.
For those of you reading this at home, it has been about a month since I started writing this blog post. My procrastination has cost me the bright memory of my ridiculous experience that would have made all the difference in this blog post. CURSE YOU, CRUEL LACK OF EFFORT!!!
Anyway, we decided to drive over to my parents' house to get the boots. They were in the garage, buried behind a bunch of camping gear and under some moldy backpacks. If that didn't tip me off that something might be wrong with the boots, the slime all over the inside of the right boot definitely did. I managed to fish it out with my fingertips and held it at arm's length as I brought it out to the car. I figured I'd have time to clean it up in the week or so before Halloween.
Fast forward a week or so, and, of course, I woke up with a strange, nagging feeling, which I shrugged off because I had slept in and was late for school. Finally, the time came for me to change into my costume for a Halloween party Dria and I were attending. That was when I remembered the boot. The slime-covered, disturbingly sweet-smelling snow boot that I had left fermenting in my closet.
Being the brilliant, resourceful and quick-thinking man that I am, I decided to just wipe the gunk off with a wet rag. It's not like a boot that had been sitting around for who knows how long would have absorbed the grease enough that a simple wipe-off wouldn't do it, right? Well, no. Wrong. WAY wrong. Because the moment I started wiping, a white foam began to... uh... foam... out of the boot, like rabies out of a dog's mouth.
Turns out the sludge on my boot was actually soap!
Which led me to my next BRILLIANT deduction: what do you do with soap? Take a shower! I was just about to take a shower anyway, so why not just bring the boot in with me and rinse it out? A foolproof plan, if I had ever heard of one.
Of course, wherever the soap came from was obviously a full bottle of something, so no amount of wringing and squeezing and rinsing could get the soap out completely. I wrestled with it for about twenty minutes before giving up and just taking a shower like normal.
So here I was, a man without an essential element to his costume. I had two choices, really: I could wear the slimy boot, which was now also soaking wet (and this is Utah weather, we're talking about, which is not exactly tropical!), or I could go to the party looking like a doofus. Well, I guess I would look like a doofus either way, but at least with the boots I would be a famous doofus.
I finally decided to be a man, and I stuffed my foot into the swamp that the inside of my boot had become. I instantly knew that there was no turning back, because my pant leg was soaked around the ankle, and I would probably have to take another shower after I took the boot off anyway. It was disgusting!
But at least Dria and I had the best couple costume at the party! :)