Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

My new belly dancing costume just came in the mail, and it is sooooo fab that it's worth it, despite the odyssey my package made.

I'd ordered my custom-fit costume from the Turkish Emporium, which I highly recommend for their fantastic handiwork and reasonable prices.

I was ordering the costume for the annual performance that my belly dancing class gives to show off our skills. I've let myself be talked, once more, into doing a solo.

And as anyone knows, the best way to psyche yourself up for baring your belly and dancing in public is to go glam. (Like Cher, I sometimes wonder if I'm a male cross-dresser trapped in a female's body.)

My first stipulation was that this costume had to be discernibly different from my other one, which was midnight blue. This one is red velvet, and I was happy to discover that my measurements had gone down since last year.

The costume takes up to 14 days to construct, due to the intricate beadwork, so this time I was smart enough to order it way in advance (Not like last year, when I actually put off ordering because I was thinking, "Well, I might be smaller by then..."). So despite the delivery fiasco, I was never truly pressed for time and desperate. And I'd really had to, I could have worn last year's costume (but that would be oh, so gauche).

My package's odyssey began on Friday. I was checking my Wild Violet post office box in Philly, which I'm often very glad to have, especially when I receive creepy submissions such as poems from Satanists or stories about people cutting up their girlfriends and throwing the body parts in the pool. I don't want these people to know where I live.

When I got back, I found a FedEx tag on the door, telling me the courier had stopped by a mere 20 minutes earlier, in an attempt to deliver a package. I knew immediately it must be my belly dancing costume, because although I'm a bit of an impulse Internet shopper, none of my other recent purchases were to be delivered by FedEx.

(I also remembered that last year when my costume came, it was a particularly hot day and I was napping on the living room floor in my underwear when the FedEx courier arrived. I had to run around and find clothes before answering the door. Which led to my rule that, despite the fact that I'm a freelancer and could technically sit around in my underwear all day, it's generally a Patented Bad Idea to do so.)

<Momentary pause whilst I put a bandage on a paper cut obtained while opening my new CD, Sam Roberts "The Inhuman Condition," bought on impulse after hearing it on the radio. Can you believe this paper cut is bleeding?>

At any rate, I was a bit miffed on Friday, knowing I had to wait an entire weekend to receive my new hotness, but I waited patiently. Yesterday, I made certain that whenever I wasn't at home, I'd hung the FedEx slip on the door, which conveniently allows you to sign a sticker so they can deliver the package if you're not there.

But alas, the 12-3 p.m. window, when the package was supposed to arrive, came and went. No package. I went for a walk with my dog, deciding to force the "pot watched never boils" precept. Sure enough, a block away we encountered a FedEx truck! I got so excited, we ran home and opened the inner door (leaving the screen door closed). I watched for the magic white truck bearing gifts. It didn't arrive. Perhaps because I was, again, watching the pot.

Finally, at about 5:30, I called the FedEx help line They tracked the package and determined the courier had marked it "incorrect address." Incorrect? They hadn't even been here! After some discussion, the operator promised to put a trace on the package and to find out what had happened.

So naturally, I had bizarre dreams about things going missing all night. I woke up and called the number again. This time, the operator told me what had happened. The courier had apparently misread the address on the package. So when he went to the address where he believed it had been sent, he was told it was the wrong address. The operator promised the problem had been corrected and the package was on its way.

Fortunately, I had work to keep me busy this morning until the package arrived. When it did, I flew to the door, all anticipation. I suddenly understood how my dog, Una, feels when I get home. Even if she's been waiting for hours, as soon as I get back I'm instantly forgiven. That FedEx courier got nothing but smiles from me.

As soon as the FedEx courier left, I tore open the package and tried on the costume to the strains of Elton John's "The Bitch is Back," which blasted from the radio. It fit perfectly and looked snazzy.

And for those who would say there's no such thing as coincidence, I must agree that it arrived at the perfect moment. Because everybody knows that the two best songs for getting glammed up are "The Bitch is Back" and David Bowie's "Queen Bitch," which I used to put on repeat as I got ready to paint the town bright purple.

Cher would understand.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

Musings Index

What do you think? Share your thoughts
at Alyce's message board (left button):