In general, the crowd was on the older and decidedly affluent side. These are Porsches after all. And mixed in with the gray hair,was a small but quite vocal bunch of trophy wives. I think that they must breed them somewhere, as they all had the exact same shade of blonde hair and fake boobs. We did wonder if the right ones went home with the right men, as they all had a tendancy to look and dress alike.
And what does all this have to do with comics you may ask? I'm getting to that, but please indulge my cattiness. Because, in addition to the really gorgeous gowns, there were some really...outrageous outfits, and some of them seemed to have been designed with comicbook heroines in mind. There was one woman for example, who was wearing a short backless and almost frontless dress. Power Girl immediately sprang to mind. There was another young lady in black fishnets and a mini-skirt. Black Canary! And high high heels.
What Caryn (my son's adorable girlfriend) and I couldn't understand, was that at the end of the evening, our feet were killing us, since we were both wearing nice high-heeled shoes. As were a lot of OTHER ladies, whose feet were also killing them. How in the HELL do Super Heroines run around kicking people in the face, without breaking their ankles, or falling out of their incredibly low-cut costumes? Seeing some of this stuff for REAL, on real women, made me realize how utterly impractical it all is. If you can't make it to the other side of the dance floor without twisting your ankles, then how the heck are you going to chase bad guys? And one ill-advised twist of your torso, and unless you are using industrial strength duct tape, your bosoms are going to put somebody's eye out.
Of course, it could just be the hangover and the lack of sleep that is making me so cranky. And the fact that my eye-candy days are probably behind me. But I'm beginning to think that all Peej would really have to do in the REAL world is just show up and...breathe. And all the villains would simply surrender.
