Bequeathing my Marilyn wig as a family hair loom

 For my friend, Sarah, everyday is a theme day (except, ironically, actually assigned theme days...and then she balks...this is, of course, when our relationship was cemented). I lack the energy, creativity, talent, and enthusiasm for such devotion to design...however, I do occasionally rise to the challenge...

...as was the case when Sydney Lynn purchased beach-based tickets for us to watch "Some Like It Hot" at the renowned Hotel del Coronado which provided the memorable exterior shots for the famous Marilyn Monroe/Tony Curtis/Jack Lemmon comedy. Upon hearing the news of these plans, I squealed with utter delight and immediately began planning what our party would wear.

I,  of course, would go iconic Marilyn in the "The Seven Year Itch" dress and depend on Sydney to represent "Some Like It Hot." I waded in carefully with Savannah and Douglas...my diffident deer...my reluctant rabbits...my wary woodland creatures...but my worries were unfounded. They sported their captain's hats like jaunty cherries on a whipped cream sundae. It may have been out of relief that I didn't try to wrangle them into a more ambitious costume or, as I prefer to believe, they, too, were caught up in the excitement. 

I think that, years later, when I look back at this evening, I may remember the preparations for the event even more than the actual experience. The silliness. The giggling. The racing from room to room. The awkward adjustments. Man-handling me into make-up (Think lipstick on a pig)..."It stings," I complained as I offered Sydney a litany of palettes upon which to work:  Pursed lips. "Relax," she frowned, concentrating on painting her hostile canvas. Bird lips. "Relax," she scolded. "Try opening your mouth a bit. No, not that much." Elvis sneer. "Mother," Sydney sighed, exasperated, "Pretend you're popping an M & M in there. Perfect." She dove in while I complained again, "It stings." She paused to look at me. "Like emergency room sting or I'm being a big baby and it doesn't actually hurt that much sting," I side-eyed the mirror and saw, with great alarm, that my lips were black. "Marilyn MONROE," I hissed, hindered by my M & M-shaped mouth, "Not MANSON." "It's a stain," Sydney explained, already planning her strategy on how to get me to wear a strapless brasserie without having to chase, tackle, and sit on me. "It'll turn red in a minute." I stared at her, shocked. "I'm not a porch deck, Sydney Lynn."

As Sydney put the finishing touches on her amazing outfit, I forced Savannah to be my photographer as I attempted to re-enact Marilyn's subway grate scene. Straddling a box-fan is as magical as you can imagine. 

Douglas gallantly dropped us off at our destination before parking the car. I, at first, suspected that this was an (understandable) avoidance strategy so he wouldn't have to walk with us through the grounds to get to the beach but I realized I misjudged him because he OWNED that captain's hat as he jogged back to us...offering a chivalrous arm to his fiance and proudly guiding her along the sidewalk, balancing her across the sand to her seat. 

The journey to the movie area was more running a gauntlet than walking a red carpet. I was expecting some looks. Some laughter. I was not expecting to not be noticed AT ALL. Wow. I guess it should be comforting that I was not even in the top ten of weird things these people encounter in a day...but, c'mon, folks! Let's muster up a smile at least.  

Then we found our people.

Our approval rating went from invisible to accepted, appreciated, and admired the minute we stepped on to the sand. Sydney, clutching her stole, demurely waved a slender, gloved hand at her fans as Savannah wrestled a blanket out of the ukulele case to cover my bare legs as the setting sun clocked out to let the Pacific determine the weather, changing the dial from solar to polar. 

Earlier, as I attempted to gracefully get in the car without dislodging my wig or displaying my goods, I slammed my skull against the

top of the door. This wouldn't have happened to Marilyn, I thought glumly, Instead, I'm forced to do all my own stunts. Sporting a splitting headache, I nevertheless enjoyed every second of the cinematic experience. We adored ALL of the actors but the true star of the screen was, of course, The Del. There she was, in glamorously timeless black and white footage while, behind the projection screen, she still stood...ageless and elegant, filled with colorful stories...a legend. A starlet beneath the stars. 

Squinting at the screen, I attempted to ignore my headache...occasionally removing my glasses to hug my head in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Was it the car door? I wondered. Am I dehydrated? Just tired and over-stimulated? Oh my gosh! What if it's an aneurysm? I was scared at first but then thought, If I'm going to go out...please let it be dressed as Marilyn at a screening of "Some Like It Hot" at The Del. Wouldn't that be a great story for my family to tell rather than "Mom died on the couch watching re-runs of MASH?" 

Obviously, I survived the experience. We returned home and I crawled up the stairs and into

the bathroom. Removing the wig, I then contended with the netting that was ensnaring my hair. Recall, if you will, the fun science experiment where one places rubberband after rubberband around the middle of a ripe watermelon and the messy aftermath. Yeah. I tore my tendrils free and then, euphoric, subsequently discovered the release from my malaise. 

Was it worth it? The planning and cost? The headache? The self-inflicted social embarrassment? The hot, itchy wig? I won't actually admit to liking it hot. But, over-all, I would say it was a small price toupee.