Stuck on you...

So now that we are fully submerged into Lockdown, The Sequel, the Zoom quiz nights with Jolly Sock Man's parents have resumed.

Last Saturday's was the first one, with the theme of 'Remember, remember, the 5th of November' etc, so I decided it would be a grand wheeze to dress as Guy Fawkes.  Now I have many things in my dressing up cupboard (used to be a suitcase, but we had to extend into the airing cupboard) but there was nothing remotely Fawkes-esque so I knew that there would have to be an element of DIY if I wanted to impress.

I did find a couple of cowboy hats though, and armed with a couple of black flower pots, some duct tape and a whole load of glue, I finally managed to create something which wouldn't have looked out of place below the Houses of Parliament.  What finished the outfits off though was the postal delivery which arrived by the skin of its teeth on Saturday morning.

'The facial hair has arrived', I shouted up the stairs to the husband.  Now as he was upstairs, I couldn't see his reaction, but I think it's fair to presume that this would have been somewhere between fear and resignation, and it was a heavy footed partner in crime who trudged into the kitchen.  

I'd laid out the two moustaches and goatee beards which I felt mostly resembled those sported by Mr Fawkes and his crew of ne'er-do-wells, but the husband gave these a cursory glance and he picked the box up.  'What else is in there then?' he asked, rummaging around the various sticky backed facial appendages.

'I'll have this one', he said, stuffing something in his jeans pocket and I completely forgot about it until we were getting ready for the quiz.

Decked out in my hat (couldn't move too quickly as the slightly too small flower pot had a tendency to spring off given half the chance, I made my way to the lounge on Saturday evening.  Actually Guy Fawkes missed a trick there - if he'd had my hat, he could have taken the guard's eye out with a neatly timed pot blast-off, proving a good distraction while he got the Swan Vestas out.  I also had my moustache on, having decided to leave the goatee behind as a test run with a glass of wine had shown me that there was a good chance that it would end up in the glass rather than on my chin.  It also bore a scary resemblance to what was already there, and who wants to draw attention to that, ladies.

I was setting the laptop up with Zoom when the husband sidled up next to me on the sofa.  In my defence, I was really concentrating on getting the sound and picture working, so when we appeared on the screen, rather than a couple of Guy Fawkes staring back at me, I appeared to be sitting next to some Mexican bandit  courtesy of the droopy moustache stuck to his face.  Naturally, I couldn't keep a straight face, and that's the problem with a fake moustache.  As soon as you smile, it comes off, and the moustache was re-positioned in more and more unusual places as the night and the wine went on.

I missed a trick though.  If I had really stuck it on, and not moved a muscle all night, any upper lip waxing regime could have been put back at least a week.

You live and learn..