With Halloween around the corner, I am reminded of my very own horror Halloween story; one that continues to haunt me each year and one that continues to mortify me every single time it comes to mind. South Africans don’t commonly celebrate Halloween and very rarely do the dress-up, trick-or-treating kind of thing. A handful of teenagers normally get together and enjoy the evening by watching loads of horror movies with a mountain of candy after the usual, South African braai (barbecue).
A few years back, the children were out joining their friends for their customary braai and horror movie night in celebration of Halloween. While my husband was at work, I decided to make the most of our time alone and plan something special for just the two of us; something I NEVER do. Being raised in a family that never celebrated Halloween, I thought it okay to put aside all the supposed evil we were warned against as children, and transform myself into one of Heff’s Playboy Bunnies. Considering the fact that dressing up in nothing more than a corset and stilettos, I was rather proud of myself for taking the plunge and becoming sensual, again, something that was way out of my comfort zone. After carefully applying my smoldering eye make-up and bright red lipstick, I slipped into a suggestive little corset I had bashfully, but secretly bought at our local lingerie store. With my cherry red corset and stilettos that suddenly seemed higher than my standards, I re-arranged my fish-net pantyhose and hurried out into the living room where I had set the mood only moments before by lighting candles and arranging an assortment of snacks and wine which included an intimate game of trick-or-treating, just for the two of us.
When I heard his car pull up into the driveway, I hurriedly took up my pre-planned position on my suede-red couch. As I glanced over at my seductive pose, I was convinced that I could put any Playboy Bunny to shame at that very moment. I folded one leg over the other and, in total contrast to my nature, I gave the very best pout I had trained for, only moments earlier. The front-door opened and as I let out a shy giggle, I heard his familiar voice, followed by another, unfamiliar voice. A stranger’s voice, one I did not know and one I was sure I had never heard before. I hurriedly glanced around me as I devastatingly realized that there was no way out … unseen. If I had wanted to make a run for it, it would be past the front-door; past my hubby and past that strange voice. I considered diving into a corner behind a couch, but as I summed up the space between the wall and the couch, I realized that I was carrying 8 kg’s and 134 cm’s too much, even though I was squeezed into a tiny, twelve-sizes-too-small corset. In the flickering light of a million candles, I made a reluctant decision to face what I had once deemed to be my greatest fear. Never in all my years have I EVER been brave enough to evolve into a Playboy Bunny; never has my darling seen me in a corset and NEVER, EVER have I paraded, even in private, with fish-net stockings and stilettos that I now realize, was probably higher than my IQ. That dreadful moment had arrived; I was about to come face to face, as a Playboy Bunny, with my hubby and a total stranger. I felt the blood drain from my face as my heart had begun to shudder at a disturbing, almost fatal rate. My breathing became labored and although the corset had much to do with my taking shorter breaths, I am pretty sure that the prospect of facing ANYBODY in my little-bitty costume had made it a thousand times worse.
My husband entered and immediately turned back to the door as he welcomed his guest into our home. Our Playboy Mansion kinda’ home. As he closed the door, I was horrified to recognize our unwelcome house guest; a client. One of our most valued clients. Mr. Z. I considered that little corner behind the couch once again, but it was too late. Mr. Z had seen and identified me and while I was frantically considering my next move, my darling saw me standing there with bunny ears and all, which was not much. I smiled when I really wanted to cry. Up until that very moment, I considered myself a decent and conservative’ish wife and mother. Up until then, I was a brilliant example to my children. I campaigned against teenage girls that would dress inappropriately. I was adamant that sex before marriage was the solitary reason that the Titanic had sunk; I blamed Jack and Rose’s pre-marital sex as the only reason that ship went down. I was a good girl and later, a good’ish woman … right up until that very moment. I could not quite decide who was more embarrassed, my darling or our Mr. Z? I was mortified as I shifted past them sideways while desperate to remain as classy as I can be. Again, I smiled and waved. Not wanting to turn my back on the two men that were standing motionlessly and in utter disbelief, because … you know … the G-string thingy, I shifted sideways, knock-knees and all until they could no longer see me.
I made my way to the end of my bed and sat down while I buried my face into my hands, entirely overwhelmed by what had just taken place. In a matter of seconds, the front-door had opened and closed before I was keenly aware of footsteps that were coming from the passage, and towards me. My hubby walked in and grinned from ear to ear, “What a horror, huh?” Needless to say, my first out-of-the-box Halloween turned out to be the last. This Halloween, I opt for a braai, followed by a quiet night in and a bunch of horror movies and candy!
Happy Halloween 2017 all!