It was the end-of-term party. We were a group of psychotherapy students having a 'dis-owned parts' party, an opportunity to act out the role of our Shadow selves. Collectively we had given each other roles to play and mine was Martha from Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf. I watched the movie twice, cobbled together a costume and bought a big bottle of scotch.
As the costume came on, so did the scotch. My updated version of Martha included a tight, black, Biker's jacket with lots of shiny zippers paired with equally skin tight black leather pants and knee-high spiked heeled boots. This was augmented with lots of hair gel, vivid makeup, a pushup bustier, and a big rude tattoo inked onto my chest. By party time I was feeling alter-ego-Martha coursing through my veins. I liked what I was feeling.
I walked around the party being everything I believed I could never be. I attempted to seduce several men and pinched lots of ass, both male and female. I said everything that came to mind, nothing was censored. And I drank, Lots.
The woman playing Christ started to cry when I mocked her. The guy playing a 1950's gangster-type bad boy felt we were a good match and offered to help me play out the role to the hilt, which we did, outside under a tree, in the rain.
There's still a remnant of Martha hanging around me; I think I've grown to appreciate her.