If there is one thing that makes me quiver in fear it is costumes. The kind of sexy-for- your-eyes-only, see-through, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination…oops my nipples are showing type of ensemble meant to be worn in the bedroom and not in public unless you are seriously, seriously drunk. I hate them. My thighs are too fat, my legs too short and my head too big. They are meant for 25-year-old girls who eat a piece of lettuce for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and that’s only when they are indulging. When I was 20 years younger and untold pounds thinner I could do this. At this age, I just think I look like Winnie The Pooh Stuck In the Honey Tree with a dash of Miss Piggy in a wetsuit thrown in. (Yes, we woman are too hard on ourselves but we will save that discussion for another day!)

Unfortunately, my husband recently told me that he misses seeing me in this type of attire. He’s a visual kind of man he tells me. He’s a I wanna’ see before I touch kinda’ guy and so I began to peruse the “can’t-touch-this-sexy-momma” online store and did I ever get some ideas.

Unfortunately, I could not find the “this-is-the-one-to save-your-marriage” type of look though with the mid-life crisis component of the “let-me-marry-my-younger-than-my-daughter-aged secretary” being all the rage in men these days; the innocent school girl look just might do. Unfortunately, I suspect on a 55-year-old woman it might be more reminiscent of a Catholic priest in drag than anyone B used to date in high school. Yep, this one is definitely a five drink minimum proposition before I would even consider reliving my teen years again.

I considered the sexy santa suit/wear but with the twelve animals that would have to imported and the fees associated with the mandatory quarantine… well… it began to feel a somewhat sacrilegious to me. And in truth, making that “bowl-full-of-jelly” scene appear in real life would probably make B swear off Christmas for the rest of his life. Besides, red isn’t my color.

The policewoman outfits were kind of attractive but it is doubtful that I could get B into a pair of handcuffs because he knows that with the mood I am in I might be charged with “unlawful entry” when I got done with him. He’s smart enough not to take the chance.

The French maid was adorable in the photo. And the genuine feather duster, I must confessed turned me on. In fact, that whole maid idea got me so excited I decided to hire one next week to clean my house. But I’m willing to bet she won’t be French and won’t have cleavage that enters the door one minute before the rest of her.

Many afternoons I spent in search of the perfect “look-I’m-trying-to-make-an-effort-to-turn-you-on”clothing. Finally, after I had just about given up, I came upon the obvious choice. What with my skills used for fighting for truth, justice and the American way, leaping over a minefield of toys in a single bound, and having perfected my mind reading abilities in order to determine which child is the culprit;  I realized there was only one costume that would do…

The one…

The only…

Superhero…

For mom’s everywhere…

Wonder Woman.

And it works because I AM the original wonder woman creator of the “perfect” family and even more a “no yell” kind of world. Even better, the costume fits me perfectly too…but unfortunately for B I don’t look like her in it!