The Speckulator: Bodice ripper

I love Halloween. I particularly enjoy dressing in costume, which is why I insisted on trying to wear my beloved (if not quite authentic) Renaissance-y costume that my mom made in 1999, despite the substantial increase in poundage and girth. TRIED to wear. Behold Rob and Jamie as Robin Hood and Maid Marian a mere eight years ago:

Note how the skirt hangs just above my hips (i.e., at a defined waistline and not hiked up to just under chest with zipper halfway down [or, more optimistically, halfway up])? Note how the bodice meets across the chest and the tummy (i.e., not straining to hold them in or back)?

Was I ever so young and non-pregnant?

Last night, I masqueraded more as a past-her-prime bar wench.

Chubby Panzie used as feline shield/highly desired belly block:

And not quite succeeding. Naughty kitty.

Voluminous sleeves hopefully causing optical illusion that belly is smaller:

Hope not quite fulfilled.

(Not pictured: The poor ribbon struggling
to keep bodice gap under 10 inches.)

Ah, well--there's always next year. Perhaps the costume will look better. Perhaps then we'll have more than 20-odd kids (that's 20-or-so kids, not 20 ODD kids, though some were.). Perhaps then Rob won't tell a friend later on that "Jamie ate more candy than we gave out." Yeah, Rob, I heard, and I'm not happy. Even if it's so very, very true. And we'll have a Speck, to dress up in an adorable costume and use to get candy, as Anne suggests!

And just because he's a popular guy and quite in demand, and also because he'll be quite annoyed, here's Rob (sans costume) enjoying his delicious leftover Thai last night, both somber and rakishly askew (in camera angle, anyhow):