So I had finally gotten all the pieces of my costume together for this weekend and I had decided to put it together and test it out. Boy was that a painful experience.
Now, on paper, it’s a pretty solid outfit. In fact, many of the pieces I had already, just from years of accumulated Halloween costumes and stuff like that, and looking down at all the gathered accoutrements at my disposal – not just the shield I finished this past weekend, but a pair of leather bracers, boots, and gloves, along with the kind of belt you’d see someone walking around with at your local renaissance fair (or someplace like, say, Medieval Times) – I had only had to borrow a couple of items: a tunic large enough for me, a hand-me-down leather breastplate that was both too big for me and too small for me at the same time (how the hell does that happen?), and some weird purple hood-mantle thing. The results were, well… look for yourself. It ain’t pretty.
As soon as I saw the picture of how I looked, I was immediately mortified. Oh God, I thought. I’m going to be laughed right off the campground this weekend. I just winced and immediately slipped into the kind of deep, abject depression usually reserved for really serious life-shattering issues, like when George W. Bush was re-elected in 2004 or when Firefly was cancelled by Fox. How is anyone supposed to take me seriously? I look like a reject from Krull.
I just kept staring and staring at that image on my digital camera. All I could see in my head was that poor pudgy little kid with a bowl haircut and his blanket tied in a knot around his neck. You know the one I’m talking about.
And then of course the next image that popped into my mind was the next-gen version of the same kid, all grown up:
Of course what I was truly afraid of is that people would only just see this whenever they saw me this weekend:
I may just take an early lunch tomorrow and hang myself in the bathroom.