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Dawg fans: we must rally to beat tu-tu ju-ju
By Justin Raines Staff Writer
Halloween snuck up on me this year as it usually tends to do.
By Wednesday morning I still had no costume, and I was expected later that evening at a rock ‘n' roll show in Asheville, N.C. To arrive without an outfit would be unthinkable.
My brother called me later in the day to check on my progress. When the phone rang, I was thumbing through pink, ruffled ballerina skirts near the women's underwear section of Wal-Mart. It was a strange place to be, but I had already committed to dressing up as character in a Black Sabbath song. Something about a fairy with boots on. I had the boots, but I needed a tu-tu. I told the clerk that I wanted a costume for my “daughter” and could she please show me the tu-tus. Looking embarrassed and uneasy, she pointed toward the dance wear section.
There was nothing in the dance wear aisle that would possibly fit over a grown man's hips, so I decided to make the drive to Asheville and try my luck there. When I arrived that afternoon, my brother was waiting for me.
“So,” he said. “Where's the tu-tu?”
I shrugged and told him about my experience in the panty aisle of Wal-Mart.
“Well, I thought you might back out, so we got you a spare,” he said just as his girlfriend produced a sheer, multi-colored piece of ruffled cloth from their car.
Great golly! There was no backing out now. The main problem was that they expected me to have a pair of long johns to wear underneath the tu-tu, and I had nothing except a pair of boxer shorts.
“So be it,” I thought, lacing up a pair of knee-high camouflage duck boots.
To back out now and roll up at the Halloween concert without a costume would be uncivilized. I was locked into the tu-tu and boots. Oh yeah, I also had a pair of fairy wings, a hand-painted wand, a week-old beard and my lucky Georgia jersey over a long-sleeve deer hunting shirt.
“What the heck does this have to do with sports?” you might be asking yourself.
Well, I've never worn the jersey to anything other than a football game. It hasn't been washed since the Florida butt-kicking, so as not to dilute the good luck it is soaked in.
I fear that wearing it to a non-football related event may have somehow altered the ju-ju.
The costume caused such reaction from the hippies at the concert that I'm worried about the future of my lucky jersey. People laughed. People pointed and stared. Some were angry that a grown man would wear a tu-tu and wings in public. At one point, a girl jumped in my face screaming “Gooo Dawgs!!” until she saw my naked legs, then she backed away very quickly without making direct eye contact.
Overall, I think the luck is still good for the Auburn game, but I want to let everyone know that we'll need some extra magic this weekend to offset the possible curse of the tu-tu ju-ju.
The only way to nullify my weirdness on Halloween is if every grown man in Rabun County dons a tu-tu for the game.
Don't be afraid. Get yourselves a wand and some wings and let the good times roll. Pink frills actually go quite well with Realtree.
Fire up the grills then do a couple of pirouettes in the front yard. It's the only way. Go Dawgs!
By Wednesday morning I still had no costume, and I was expected later that evening at a rock ‘n' roll show in Asheville, N.C. To arrive without an outfit would be unthinkable.
My brother called me later in the day to check on my progress. When the phone rang, I was thumbing through pink, ruffled ballerina skirts near the women's underwear section of Wal-Mart. It was a strange place to be, but I had already committed to dressing up as character in a Black Sabbath song. Something about a fairy with boots on. I had the boots, but I needed a tu-tu. I told the clerk that I wanted a costume for my “daughter” and could she please show me the tu-tus. Looking embarrassed and uneasy, she pointed toward the dance wear section.
There was nothing in the dance wear aisle that would possibly fit over a grown man's hips, so I decided to make the drive to Asheville and try my luck there. When I arrived that afternoon, my brother was waiting for me.
“So,” he said. “Where's the tu-tu?”
I shrugged and told him about my experience in the panty aisle of Wal-Mart.
“Well, I thought you might back out, so we got you a spare,” he said just as his girlfriend produced a sheer, multi-colored piece of ruffled cloth from their car.
Great golly! There was no backing out now. The main problem was that they expected me to have a pair of long johns to wear underneath the tu-tu, and I had nothing except a pair of boxer shorts.
“So be it,” I thought, lacing up a pair of knee-high camouflage duck boots.
To back out now and roll up at the Halloween concert without a costume would be uncivilized. I was locked into the tu-tu and boots. Oh yeah, I also had a pair of fairy wings, a hand-painted wand, a week-old beard and my lucky Georgia jersey over a long-sleeve deer hunting shirt.
“What the heck does this have to do with sports?” you might be asking yourself.
Well, I've never worn the jersey to anything other than a football game. It hasn't been washed since the Florida butt-kicking, so as not to dilute the good luck it is soaked in.
I fear that wearing it to a non-football related event may have somehow altered the ju-ju.
The costume caused such reaction from the hippies at the concert that I'm worried about the future of my lucky jersey. People laughed. People pointed and stared. Some were angry that a grown man would wear a tu-tu and wings in public. At one point, a girl jumped in my face screaming “Gooo Dawgs!!” until she saw my naked legs, then she backed away very quickly without making direct eye contact.
Overall, I think the luck is still good for the Auburn game, but I want to let everyone know that we'll need some extra magic this weekend to offset the possible curse of the tu-tu ju-ju.
The only way to nullify my weirdness on Halloween is if every grown man in Rabun County dons a tu-tu for the game.
Don't be afraid. Get yourselves a wand and some wings and let the good times roll. Pink frills actually go quite well with Realtree.
Fire up the grills then do a couple of pirouettes in the front yard. It's the only way. Go Dawgs!
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