costumes and my future life of crime
Along with such career paths as international super spy, super hero and super villain, I’ve dabbled over the years with the idea of one day becoming a super cat burglaress. Sure, it might not be an immediate perfect fit (what with my propensity to fall down a lot and trip over my own clown-like feet). But I figure that any day now some boffin or other will come up with a solution - possibly a grace chip or they’ll crack the clumsy gene, offering hope to balance-challenged wannabe thieves everywhere. When that day comes, I’ll ditch the teaching gig and embark on a life of slinking silently over rooftops and contorting through dazzling arrays of lasers. It will be awesome. And since I want to be prepared, I sometimes think about the big issue revolving around my future life of nefarious criminal exploits - the costume. The colour’s obvious (although wouldn’t it be something to be the only cat burglaress on the block wearing fluro pink?!). I’m more stuck on the finer points though, like spandex or leather? Mask or no mask? Cape or no cape? A symbol of some kind subtly emblazoned across my breasty-chesty, or perhaps the more demure option of a logo on my belt? Obviously there’s a desire to wear big stompy goth-style boots, but maybe black ballet slippers (with suction cups attached to the bottom for scaling the sides of buildings) would be a more sensible option? Choices, choices!
I don’t have a lot of experience with breaking and entering (or “b & e” as it’s known in “the trade”). I’ve only attempted it twice (and only succeeded once). Both times were on my own home though, so I’m not sure they count. My sole burgling success was in high school - I’d lost my keys somewhere along the way and only realised as I stood outside the front door. I scaled the railing on the front porch, trying to lean over to my bedroom window. I reached it and tried tearing off the flyscreen, but from my precarious position on top of the railing it wouldn’t budge (and I was too scared of falling into the thorny rose bush below to really give it a good tug). I wandered round the front of the house, assessing the windows, my keen burglar mind trying to determine the weakest window link. At last I picked my window. It was above chest height and I stomped all over the delicate flowerbeds below as I gripped and ripped the flyscreen from the window. Using more force than cat burglaress finesse, I was eventually able to pry the window open (tragically breaking many nails in the process). Victory was almost mine - the flyscreen was in tatters, the window was wide.. all I had to do was get in. There was no rail this time and no way to scale the bricky façade. I decided that a running jump was my best bet and backed up to the footpath. Like a bull charging at a red toreador’s cape, I ran at that brick wall with single minded determination and jumped! My head and chest made it up to window level, but the rest of my body thwacked into the wall and I fell back onto the flowerbed. Undaunted, I tried again.. only to get the same ouchy result. Third time was the charm and I dangled, legs in the air and flailing, on the window ledge before eventually flopping over and into the living room. When my parents got home a couple of hours later I had a lot of explaining to do (and the beginnings of some spectacular bodily bruises.. the thigh ones were especially dramatic and multi-coloured).
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I don’t have a lot of experience with breaking and entering (or “b & e” as it’s known in “the trade”). I’ve only attempted it twice (and only succeeded once). Both times were on my own home though, so I’m not sure they count. My sole burgling success was in high school - I’d lost my keys somewhere along the way and only realised as I stood outside the front door. I scaled the railing on the front porch, trying to lean over to my bedroom window. I reached it and tried tearing off the flyscreen, but from my precarious position on top of the railing it wouldn’t budge (and I was too scared of falling into the thorny rose bush below to really give it a good tug). I wandered round the front of the house, assessing the windows, my keen burglar mind trying to determine the weakest window link. At last I picked my window. It was above chest height and I stomped all over the delicate flowerbeds below as I gripped and ripped the flyscreen from the window. Using more force than cat burglaress finesse, I was eventually able to pry the window open (tragically breaking many nails in the process). Victory was almost mine - the flyscreen was in tatters, the window was wide.. all I had to do was get in. There was no rail this time and no way to scale the bricky façade. I decided that a running jump was my best bet and backed up to the footpath. Like a bull charging at a red toreador’s cape, I ran at that brick wall with single minded determination and jumped! My head and chest made it up to window level, but the rest of my body thwacked into the wall and I fell back onto the flowerbed. Undaunted, I tried again.. only to get the same ouchy result. Third time was the charm and I dangled, legs in the air and flailing, on the window ledge before eventually flopping over and into the living room. When my parents got home a couple of hours later I had a lot of explaining to do (and the beginnings of some spectacular bodily bruises.. the thigh ones were especially dramatic and multi-coloured).
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