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“I’m not sure, but last year Josh went as a high schooler, and they tossed him in the pool because he didn’t put in enough effort. Granted, he just threw on old track pants and a too-small shirt and borrowed his niece’s kindergarten backpack. So . . . it should probably be better than that.”
This is starting to sound a bit like a raucous party. “Hmm. Okay. Well, let’s think about it and toss out some ideas and see if we can’t find something that works.”
I end the call, and Hattie claps her hands excitedly. “I know exactly what you should be!”
“I don’t know about this.”
“You look awesome. Now hold still so I can finish your eyes. This is the tricky part.”
When my sister suggested that I dress up as Catwoman for Halloween, I immediately thought it was an awesome idea. I mean, how much more perfect could it get? Kitty, the Kitty Whisperer, dressed up as Catwoman. It seemed like a no-brainer. And obviously perfect. But that was before she poured me into a non-breathable, skin-tight zippered bodysuit.
“There’s a lot of cleavage happening.”
“You’re a woman with boobs. And you’re Catwoman. You need cleavage. Miles is going to love this,” Hattie assures me. “You’re a smoke show.”
“Have you seen some of those hockey players’ wives? They look like models. Some of them even are models.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly self-conscious.
“Those are social media posts. They smooth everything out and make them look perfect. They’re humans just like you and me.”
“You look like a supermodel, too,” I gripe.
Hattie keeps up with the eyeliner. “Just wait until Miles sees you. Then you’ll forget all about being self-conscious. I promise.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I mutter, then go back to sitting still so Hattie can finish my eye makeup.
When she gets to the lipstick portion, I try to push her away. “Ow! It feels like you’re putting cayenne pepper on my lips! What is this?”
“Can you stop, please? It’s a lip stain. You don’t have to worry about reapplying once it’s set, but if you keep moving around, I’ll have to start over.”
I stop moving and let her do her thing because I don’t want more lip torture than necessary. When I try to pop my lips, they get stuck together. “What is it? Some kind of glue?”
“No. Like I said, it’s a lip stain. Keep them parted. I’m not done yet.” She swipes over them with some clear gel stuff. I hope it’s not like a finish coat for nails, otherwise this is going to be a seriously uncomfortable night for my lips.
A few minutes and a couple of plucked eyebrow hairs later, she lets me look in a mirror for the first time since I sat in her computer chair. “Ta-da! What do you think?” She props her fists on her hips and smiles widely, clearly impressed with herself.
I have to admit, I’m equally impressed. I pucker my lips. They’re bright red. They look full and pouty and kissable. “I look like me with a filter.”
“You look like you, but with makeup,” Hattie replies. She hands me the clear tube of lip gloss. After she put it on my lips they felt fine. Like my lips, not painted fingernails.
“I guess no making out in the car before the party,” I muse.
“Oh you can totally make out. That’s the whole point of a lip stain. You just have to remember to reapply the gloss regularly and that stuff will stay put all night long, even with make-out sessions.”
“Seriously?”
“Super seriously. It’ll make it through an entire blow job. Try to wipe it off,” Hattie says.
I rub my fingers over my lips and glance down at them. There’s nothing on them but gloss. The color is still on my lips. “What is this stuff?”
“It’s magic. That’s all you need to know. Now put your shoes on so I can take some pictures before Miles gets here. He’s supposed to pick you up in fifteen, but that guy has no chill when it comes to you, so he’ll probably be early.”
I gather my bag, which of course is cat themed. And I make sure my cat ear headband isn’t askew as I zip up my boots. They have three-inch heels, which I’m not accustomed to wearing, but they complete the outfit and wearing flats with a shiny pleather full-body suit would be a terrible fashion statement and ruin this costume, according to Hattie. It’s hard to argue when my legs look like they go on for days.
She poses me and takes a ton of photos, airdropping them to me immediately. “You need to post on your Kitty Whisperer account. It’s too perfect a costume.”
I bite my lip, grateful for the lip stain and its ability to stay put. “I don’t know if I should. It’s not really business related.”
