Costume Drama

Costume Drama

“I’m not wearing that costume.”

Quill waved a shiny cape and tights in an indescribable color in front of my face. “You’ll look great as the Green Hornet.”

“I’ve never heard of the Green Hornet,” I said, fingering the rayon or whatever shiny material the cape had been made of. It looked like it might combust from the petroleum distillates oozing from its fibers.

“You were deprived as a child. It was a great radio series in the thirties.”

“You weren’t born in the thirties.”

“They replayed them on NPR. Now stop stalling and get dressed.”

“I told you I’d hand out candy, not dress like a mutated bug.”

“It’s a toy store. You can’t go as Mr Engineer. Well, perhaps I could find you a slide rule and a pocket protector.”

I groaned. “You’re impossible, and I’m supposed to be the brat.”

“You are the brat. Now go change.” Quill swung me around and landed a teasing swat on my butt.

“You’re The Shadow. At least he wears a suit and not tights. I don’t wear tights.”

“You do now. Next time you’ll come when I go to pick out the costumes. At least I didn’t choose Raggedy Andy.”