SUE’S AFTER DARK DIARIES | EPISODE 51 | THE HALLOWEEN COSTUME CATASTROPHE

Sue’s After Dark Diaries Ep 51

The Halloween Costume Catastrophe

The Hostage Situation

Welcome to Sue’s After Dark Diaries Episode 51.

Have you ever had one of those mornings when you wake up feeling wonderfully organised, full of good intentions, and by lunchtime you’re seriously considering going back to bed?

Well, that was my Saturday.

And before anybody starts, no, it wasn’t Dan’s fault. Not initially, anyway.

It started with the washing machine.

I’d decided to have a productive morning. Fresh bedding, a load of washing, a little tidying, perhaps even a leisurely coffee before Sharon arrived. I’d also decided to wash Benji’s favourite fluffy parrot, which was long overdue for a bath.

The poor thing was filthy. Benji dragged it everywhere, slept with it, occasionally tried to bury it beneath the sofa cushions and became positively distraught if he couldn’t find it.

So, being the wonderful dog mummy that I am, I’d popped it into the washing machine with my underwear.

All my underwear.

Every decent pair of knickers I owned.

Twenty minutes later, the machine made a noise like somebody had thrown a toolbox down the stairs, gave an enormous shudder and died.

Just like that. No warning, no apology, nothing.

I pressed the buttons, switched it off, switched it back on and even gave it a little encouraging tap.

Nothing.

Then I tried opening the door.

Locked.

“Oh, you have got to be bloody joking.”

And that’s when I noticed Benji.

He was sitting directly in front of the washing machine, his little nose almost touching the glass.

Not moving. Not barking. Just staring, with the occasional pitiful whimper of separation anxiety.

Because there, squashed against the glass, was his beloved fluffy parrot. Its beak was flattened sideways between two pairs of my knickers, and one ridiculous eye was staring straight back at him.

Honestly, it looked as though the poor thing was being held hostage in a very peculiar underwear shop.

“It’s all right, darling. Mummy’s trying to get him out.”

Benji whimpered.

“Yes, well, I’d quite like my knickers back too, but apparently neither of us is getting what we want this morning.”

I tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.

Benji pressed his nose closer to the glass.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it deliberately.”

He gave another little whimper.

Wonderful. My dog thought I’d kidnapped his best friend.

The Thong From Hell

I went into the bedroom and opened my underwear drawer.

Empty.

Well, almost.

Right at the back, beneath some stockings I hadn’t worn for years, was a black lace thong.

Oh, bloody marvellous.

I remembered buying it. It had looked gorgeous in the shop, tiny, delicate and wonderfully naughty. The sort of underwear that makes you feel fabulous when you’re standing perfectly still in front of a mirror.

Unfortunately, the moment you attempt anything as adventurous as walking, it develops ideas of its own.

Still, what choice did I have? I wasn’t going shopping with nothing on beneath my jeans.

So I put it on.

Thirty seconds later, I remembered exactly why it had been banished to the back of the drawer.

“OH, FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

I wriggled, adjusted and wriggled again.

The bloody thing had already disappeared somewhere I had no intention of investigating before breakfast.

I pulled on my jeans and blouse, hoping everything would settle down.

It didn’t.

Benji appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“Don’t start. You’ve got your problems, I’ve got mine.”

He looked at me for a moment, then wandered back to the kitchen.

At least one of us knew where his priorities lay.

And then the doorbell rang.

Sharon.

Of course it bloody was.

Sharon Arrives, and Dan Joins In

Sharon swept through the door looking disgustingly cheerful.

“Morning, gorgeous!”

“Don’t.”

She stopped.

“Oh, this sounds promising.”

I explained everything: the washing machine, the knickers, the parrot, Benji’s emotional breakdown and the thong.

Naturally, she wanted to see the evidence.

She followed me into the kitchen, where Benji was still sitting with his little nose pressed against the washing-machine door, letting out the occasional heartbroken whimper.

“Oh, bless him,” Sharon said.

For one brief moment, I thought she might actually be sympathetic.

Then she spotted the parrot, its beak flattened against the glass between a black pair of knickers and something pink and lacy.

Sharon made a peculiar snorting noise.

“Is that his parrot?”

“Yes.”

“And your knickers?”

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips together. I knew that expression.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you get when you’re about to say something stupid.”

She lasted approximately three seconds.

“Well, at least the parrot’s died surrounded by something nice.”

“SHARON!”

She collapsed against the kitchen counter.

“And I’ve had to wear that bloody black lace thong,” I added.

Her face lit up.

“The one that disappears up your backside?”

“Yes, Sharon. That one.”

“Oh, Sue!”

“Don’t start.”

“Have you managed to find it yet?”

I gave her a look that should have melted her handbag.

She was still laughing when she glanced towards the bedroom.

“Christ, Sue. Broken washing machine, knickers held hostage, Benji having a nervous breakdown…” She shook her head. “Well, at least Dan’s behaving himself.”

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

We both froze.

Sharon slowly turned her head towards the bedroom.

I closed my eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

“Sue?”

“What?”

“Is that Dan?”

“No, Sharon. It’s the bloody washing machine trying to communicate with the dead.”

She bent double laughing.

Benji lifted his head from the washing-machine door, gave one thoroughly unimpressed little woof, then turned back to his parrot.

I marched into the bedroom.

Dan was buzzing away in the bedside drawer as though he’d been waiting all morning for his moment.

“Oh, NOW you’re in the mood, are you?”

I switched him off.

“Well, you can bloody well forget it. I’ve got enough problems with things vibrating today.”

From the living room, Sharon shouted, “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine!”

“Tell him I said hello!”

“SHARON!”

When I returned, she was sitting on the sofa looking far too pleased with herself.

“And you wonder why I bought us tickets for a night out!”

I stopped.

“Tickets for WHAT?”

Two Tickets and Absolutely No Permission

Sharon grinned.

“Halloween party!”

I stared at her.

“What Halloween party?”

“The one we’re going to.”

“Sharon, I haven’t agreed to go to a Halloween party.”

“I know.”

“Then why have you bought tickets?”

“Because if I’d asked, you’d have spent three days thinking about it.”

“That’s called making a decision.”

“Exactly. I’ve saved you the trouble.”

I sat down, carefully, and immediately stood up again.

Sharon watched with considerable interest.

“Still travelling north, is it?”

“Shut up.”

She showed me the tickets on her phone. A Halloween fancy-dress party at a private events venue, with music, dancing, a bar and prizes for the best costumes.

Actually, it sounded rather good.

Which worried me.

“Who else is going?” I asked.

“Loads of people.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Possibly.”

“Sharon.”

“What?”

“Have you actually read anything about this party?”

“Of course I have.”

“Where is it?”

She looked at her phone.

There was a pause.

“Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

“Well, it’s not quite where I thought.”

“Where did you think?”

“Ipswich.”

“And where is it?”

“Just outside.”

“How far outside?”

She enlarged the map.

“Depends how you define outside.”

I stared at her.

She smiled.

“Anyway, the important thing is that we need costumes.”

Naturally.

Shopping With Sharon

An hour later, we were walking through town. I’d chosen fitted jeans, a cream blouse and ankle boots, although the thong was making the journey considerably less enjoyable than it should have been.

Every so often, I had to stop and pretend to examine a shop window while discreetly adjusting myself.

Sharon noticed.

Of course she did.

“You’re walking funny.”

“I’m walking perfectly normally.”

“You look like you’ve got a credit card stuck between your bum cheeks.”

“Sharon!”

“Well, have you?”

“No!”

“Just checking.”

By the time we reached the costume shop, I’d already decided that if I survived the afternoon, I was going home, putting on my dressing gown and refusing to speak to another human being until Monday.

The shop was enormous, with witches, vampires, skeletons, devils, zombies and an entire section devoted to outfits that appeared to have been manufactured using approximately six inches of fabric and a great deal of optimism.

Sharon headed straight towards them.

Naturally.

She emerged holding a tiny red devil costume.

“Look at this!”

I looked.

Then looked again.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sharon, that’s not a costume. That’s a napkin with horns.”

She held it against herself.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’ll catch pneumonia.”

She laughed and put it back.

Then she found a policewoman’s outfit, followed by a nurse’s outfit, followed by something described as a Midnight Temptress, which appeared to consist of two straps, a feather and a prayer.

“Sharon, we’re going to a Halloween party, not auditioning for a gentlemen’s club.”

“Spoilsport.”

Eventually, I found a beautiful black vampire dress. It had a fitted bodice, a sweetheart neckline, delicate lace sleeves and a long, dramatic skirt with a split up one side.

Elegant, glamorous and a little daring.

Exactly what I wanted.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Sharon said.

I smiled. Finally, we agreed on something.

Then she checked the label.

“Only one size left.”

“What size?”

She showed me.

I frowned.

“That’s smaller than I normally wear.”

“You’ll get into it.”

“Sharon.”

“You’ve got a lovely little waist.”

“And boobs that have never understood the meaning of the word little.”

“Well, let’s try it.”

I should have walked away.

I really should.

The Dress That Nearly Killed Me

The changing room was at the back of the shop, behind a row of heavy curtains.

I stepped into a cubicle and began getting undressed.

The vampire dress looked considerably smaller once it was off the hanger, and getting it over my hips involved rather more wriggling than I’d anticipated.

“How’s it going?” Sharon called.

“Like trying to squeeze a watermelon into a sock.”

“Need a hand?”

“Possibly.”

She slipped inside the cubicle.

“Bloody hell, Sue.”

“What?”

“It’s a bit snug.”

“A BIT?”

She tugged the fabric into place while I tried to breathe.

“Sharon, I’m going to pass out.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic. My ribs are touching.”

Finally, the dress was on.

Almost.

The zip was still open.

“Right,” Sharon said. “Stand still.”

She caught the zip and began pulling.

It moved an inch, stopped, and then refused to budge.

She pulled harder.

“SHARON!”

“What?”

“That’s attached to me!”

“Nearly there.”

There was a sharp tug, a peculiar scraping noise, and suddenly the zip shot upwards.

“There!”

I tried to take a proper breath.

Good God.

Sharon stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Bloody hell, Sue! Your tits are so high you won’t need a scarf this winter!”

I looked down.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Sharon, I can practically rest my chin on them.”

She burst out laughing.

I tried moving my arms.

The dress creaked.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make noises.”

“Probably just the fabric.”

“That’s reassuring.”

She pulled the curtain aside.

“Come on. You need to see yourself in the big mirror.”

“Can’t I use the one in here?”

“No. The lighting’s terrible.”

I hesitated. The dress was ridiculously tight, but I had to admit that it made my waist look tiny and my figure rather spectacular.

My boobs, admittedly, had decided to move upstairs without informing the rest of me.

Still, perhaps it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d thought.

So I followed Sharon out towards the full-length mirror.

Which was when everything went horribly wrong.

The Great Halloween Escape

I stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide whether I looked glamorous or like a woman who’d been vacuum-packed for Christmas.

The dress hugged every curve, pushed my backside out beautifully and left precious little to the imagination.

I turned sideways to admire the effect.

There was a faint ripping noise behind me.

“Sharon?”

“What?”

“What’s that noise?”

Before she could answer, something yanked me backwards.

What neither of us had realised was that when Sharon had zipped me into the bloody thing, she’d caught a fold of the changing-room curtain in the zip.

And I’d just pulled the entire lot off the wall.

There was an almighty crash.

I stumbled, grabbed at thin air and landed flat on my backside with half the curtain wrapped around my legs.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

My left boob had popped clean out of the costume.

Not a little bit of cleavage.

Not a discreet glimpse.

The entire bloody thing.

There I was, sprawled on the floor of a costume shop, one breast waving hello to the world while the other remained wedged somewhere near my throat.

Sharon took one look at me and completely lost control.

She bent double, clutching her stomach, making noises I’d previously only heard from Benji when he was about to be sick.

“STOP LAUGHING AND PUT MY TIT BACK!”

Which, naturally, was the precise moment a rather handsome male shop assistant came running around the corner.

“Good heavens! Are you ladies all right?”

He stopped dead.

Looked at me.

Looked at the curtain.

Then made the terrible mistake of looking at my chest.

I grabbed the nearest piece of fabric and covered myself.

“Does it LOOK like I’m all right?”

The poor man went bright red.

“Would you like a hand?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Preferably one that doesn’t involve another bloody wardrobe malfunction!”

Sharon, still laughing, managed to get out:

“Well, Sue, at least we know the costume’s got a quick-release feature!”

I could have murdered her.

And we hadn’t even reached the bloody Halloween party.

Oliver’s Unfortunate Afternoon

The assistant’s name badge said Oliver, and I have to give the poor man credit. He was doing his absolute best to remain professional.

Which was more than could be said for Sharon.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Only emotionally.”

“Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

He offered me his hand, and I took it while keeping the curtain firmly across my chest with the other.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t realised that the curtain was still caught in the zip. As Oliver helped me up, the remaining fabric tightened behind me.

There was another ominous creak.

I froze.

“Nobody move.”

Sharon made a strangled noise.

“Don’t,” I warned.

She pressed a hand over her mouth.

Oliver glanced towards the back of my dress.

“Ah. I think I see the problem.”

“Wonderful. Would you mind keeping it to yourself?”

He tried not to smile.

I appreciated the effort.

Sharon didn’t.

“She’s been having a terrible day,” she explained.

“Sharon, please.”

“Her washing machine broke.”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with this!”

“And all her knickers are trapped inside.”

Oliver blinked.

I stared at Sharon.

She continued.

“So she’s had to wear that tiny little lace thong you’ve just seen trying to escape from her dress!”

I closed my eyes.

“Sharon, I am begging you. Please stop talking.”

Oliver suddenly became fascinated by the damaged curtain rail.

Then I made the mistake of trying to straighten the dress.

The skirt had ridden up during my fall, and the black lace of my unfortunate thong was now peeping above the edge of the fabric.

Sharon spotted it.

“Oh, Sue! It’s making another break for freedom!”

“Would you mind helping me cover myself instead of providing a running commentary?”

She tried to answer, but another fit of laughter got the better of her.

I wanted to disappear.

Preferably into another country.

Oliver cleared his throat.

“I’ll get my colleague. She’s very good with difficult zips.”

I looked at him.

“Does this happen often?”

He considered the question.

“Not quite like this, madam.”

And then, despite everything, I started laughing.

Because what else could I do?

The Rescue Operation

Oliver returned with a female colleague named Gemma, who arrived carrying a small pair of scissors and looking entirely untroubled by the sight of me wrapped in half a changing-room curtain.

“Right, let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said.

I looked at Sharon.

“Not one word.”

Gemma carefully cut the trapped fabric away from the zip, and at last I was free.

I hurried back into the cubicle, with Sharon following close behind.

“Well,” she said brightly, “that was exciting.”

I turned around.

“Exciting? I’ve just exposed a boob to a shop assistant, demolished a changing room and nearly strangled myself with a vampire dress.”

She nodded.

“Exactly. Exciting.”

“Get this bloody thing off me.”

Unfortunately, the zip had other ideas.

It wouldn’t move.

Sharon pulled.

Nothing.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

“Oh dear.”

I looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I think it’s stuck.”

“If I have to go home wearing this dress, I’m telling everybody what happened to your Christmas pudding last year.”

Sharon stopped laughing.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She called Gemma back immediately.

Fortunately, Gemma managed to work the zip loose, and ten minutes later I emerged wearing my own clothes.

I was fairly certain I’d never been so pleased to see a pair of jeans in my life.

Oliver was standing near the till.

He gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Everything all right now?”

“Absolutely wonderful, thank you.”

Sharon appeared behind me.

“She’s decided against the vampire.”

Oliver nodded.

“Probably wise.”

I nearly laughed.

Nearly.

The Cost of Dignity

We eventually found two costumes that fitted properly.

Mine was a glamorous black witch’s dress with a flattering neckline, a fitted waist and a flowing skirt that allowed me to breathe, bend and sit down without requiring emergency assistance.

Sharon chose a striking red devil costume with a little cape, fitted dress and a pair of horns.

She looked fabulous.

Annoyingly.

At the till, Oliver rang up our purchases.

Then he looked at me.

“Would you like the damaged vampire dress as well?”

I stared at him.

“Why on earth would I want that?”

He smiled.

“Just thought you might like a souvenir.”

Sharon made a noise like a kettle coming to the boil.

I gave Oliver a long look.

“You’re enjoying this now, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.”

Fair enough. He’d earned it.

As we left, Sharon waved cheerfully.

“Bye, Oliver!”

“Goodbye, ladies. Enjoy your party.”

Then, just as the door was closing behind us, she called:

“Don’t worry! She’s normally much better at keeping her clothes on!”

I grabbed her arm.

“RUN.”

We practically fled down the street.

Back to the Hostage Situation

By the time we got home, I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my dignity was in tatters, and I was fairly certain I’d pulled something trying to escape that bloody vampire dress.

Benji was exactly where I’d left him, sitting in front of the washing machine with his little nose pressed against the glass.

Still watching his parrot.

“Oh, darling.”

He looked up at me, gave a tiny whimper, then turned back towards the door.

Sharon put the shopping bags down.

“Has he been there all afternoon?”

“Pretty much.”

“Poor little sod.”

For once, she sounded genuinely sympathetic.

I knelt beside Benji and stroked his fluffy head.

“I’ll get him out, sweetheart. I promise.”

Sharon crouched beside me.

“Have you tried draining the machine?”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“The little filter thing at the bottom. Sometimes you can drain the water out and release the door.”

I stared.

“Sharon.”

“What?”

“You’ve known how to do that all morning?”

“Well, I didn’t know that was the problem.”

I stood up slowly.

“Sharon, I have spent the entire day wearing a thong that has practically become part of my anatomy, exposed a boob to a shop assistant and demolished a changing room, while Benji’s been sitting here mourning a stuffed parrot.”

She considered this.

“Yes.”

“And NOW you mention the washing-machine filter?”

She shrugged.

“You didn’t ask.”

I could have screamed.

Ten minutes, three towels and one very wet kitchen floor later, we’d drained enough water for the door to release.

There was a click.

Benji’s ears shot up.

I opened the door.

And out came the parrot.

Soggy, flattened and looking like it had survived a particularly unpleasant tropical storm.

Benji practically climbed into my arms to get it.

“Oh, darling, look! He’s back!”

I handed it over.

Benji seized the poor bedraggled creature and charged into the living room, tail wagging furiously.

Sharon watched him disappear.

“Well, that’s one happy ending.”

I looked down at the pile of wet underwear.

“Yes. Shame mine’s still dripping on the kitchen floor.”

One Last Little Surprise

We made coffee, and I changed into my dressing gown.

With enormous satisfaction, I removed the black lace thong.

I considered burning it.

Then decided that might be excessive.

Sharon was sitting on the sofa examining the Halloween tickets again.

“By the way,” she said.

I looked up.

“What now?”

“There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

My stomach sank.

“Sharon.”

“It’s nothing bad.”

“Whenever you say that, something terrible happens.”

She grinned.

“Well, you know how it’s a fancy-dress party?”

“Yes.”

“And we’ve bought costumes?”

“Yes.”

“And there are prizes?”

“Sharon, get to the bloody point.”

She turned her phone towards me.

At the bottom of the event information, in rather small print, were the words:

BEST COSTUME COMPETITION – ALL GUESTS AUTOMATICALLY ENTERED. FINALISTS MUST TAKE PART IN THE MIDNIGHT PARADE.

I stared at the screen.

“Midnight parade?”

Sharon nodded enthusiastically.

“Apparently everyone gets to vote!”

“Sharon, I don’t want to parade anywhere.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I’ve spent today showing half my anatomy to a shop assistant. I am not getting up on a stage in front of a room full of strangers.”

She sipped her coffee.

“Well, hopefully your witch’s dress will stay on.”

I glared at her.

She smiled.

“And if it doesn’t, at least Oliver won’t be there.”

I threw a cushion at her.

She ducked.

From his basket, Benji gave a small, contented sigh, his damp fluffy parrot tucked firmly beneath his chin.

Dan, thankfully, remained silent.

For once, I thought the universe had decided I’d suffered enough.

Halloween was still days away, and I was already regretting it.

Until next time, darlings.

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