Present Perfect(3)

She glanced over her shoulder at me and asked, “Why do you want to be a cowgirl?”

“Because cowgirls are cool,” I said.

As if this wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Noah’s going to be a cool knight. I want to be a cool cowgirl and I will be if I have this hat. Please, Mom.”

She stopped and squatted down in front of me, bringing us eye-to-eye, and said, “Sweetie, you are going to be the coolest kid trick or treating this year.”

“So I can get the hat?” I felt the smile slowly crawl back across my face. I waited with great anticipation to hear the word, “yes” float past her lips.

“No. Guess what you’re going to be for Halloween?” She smiled at me with her stormy blue grey eyes filled with excitement. Standing, she started looking through the shopping cart. When she turned back around she was holding the biggest bag of bright yellow feathers I had ever seen. I looked up at her, my face twisted in confusion. “You’re going to be Tweety Bird! Isn’t that going to be fun?”

I was stunned. “I don’t want to be Tweety Bird. I want to be a cool cowgirl. Why can’t I be a cowgirl?” I whined.

“Because I already have all the things I need to make Tweety,” she said, tossing the big bag of feathers back in the cart.

“We could just put that stuff back, and you could get me this cool cowgirl hat.”

“Amanda, you’re going to be Tweety Bird this year. Stop arguing with me. You need to try and be more like your sister. She never gives me any trouble. You can be a cowgirl next year. Now, go put the hat back.”

With my shoulders slumped and my head lowered in defeat, I dragged my feet slowly as I made my way down the aisle to put the perfect cowgirl hat back on the shelf. “I don’t want to be stupid Tweety. I want to be a cowgirl. It’s my costume,” I grumbled.

“Amanda, hurry up! We need to get going.”

My mom was so obsessed with making the Tweety costume I had started to wonder if she thought I looked like a jaundiced bubble head with puffy cheeks and lips.





The construction of the Tweety costume was a hell that no child should have to experience. Mom had found the instructions on how to make the costume in a magazine. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where she had put them, but she was positive she would be able to figure things out.

I was standing in our family room dressed in a skin tight pale yellow leotard that Mom made me put on over shorts and a t-shirt. She walked into the room weighted down with an armful of supplies and dumped them out on to the floor beside me. “Whew! Ok, let’s get the show on the road,” she said, rubbing her palms together. I couldn’t believe how excited she was about this stupid bird costume.

She began setting out her supplies, as I gasped for air, and said, “Mom?”

“Hmmm…?”

“This leotard’s too tight. I can’t breathe.” I gulped in as much oxygen as the vacuum packed garment would allow.

“It has to be a little tight, Amanda. Otherwise the feathers will weight it down and make it sag. You don’t want to be a sagging Tweety do you?”

“I don’t want to be Tweety at all,” I muttered.

“Enough of that. I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Your sister didn’t complain about her costume.”

“That’s because she gets to be a fairy princess like she wants to be.”

“Let’s get started.”

Mom pulled a few more things out of her tote bag, and then, walked over to the wall to plug in her hot glue gun. When she turned back around, the glue gun was pointed directly at me.

My eyebrows immediately shot up, I could feel my eyeballs pop right out of their sockets as beads of sweat trickled down my neck. My voice was shaky when I asked, “You’re not going to shoot me with hot glue, are you? I promise I won’t say anything bad about Tweety ever again.”

“Oh Amanda, you’re so dramatic. I’m not going to drip hot glue on you. I need to figure out where to place the feathers while you’re wearing the leotard.”

She pulled out a huge roll of duct tape, started ripping off small pieces, and rolled them up. She then stuck them all over me. Taking handfuls of the bright yellow feathers, she began to shove them against my body. I tipped over a couple of times when she got a little over enthusiastic.

After she helped me out of the torture chamber, I watched as she removed sections of feathers from the leotard, drizzled hot glue, and plastered them back on. Sighing deeply, I turned away, and went to my room. I couldn’t bear to watch any longer.





Each time I walked by the feathered monstrosity my face crumpled up in disgust. Halloween was in one week. There wasn’t much time left. I needed help from an adult if I was going to have any chance of changing my mom’s mind about this bird suit.





One night, before dinner, I found my dad alone in our family room sitting in his recliner watching the evening news. I leaned over the arm of the chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Can it wait until the news is over?” His eyes stayed glued to the TV.

I pursed my lips together and stepped back. “I guess. How long is that going to be?” I asked, gnawing on my thumbnail.