After elfing myself, I tip-toed all the way from the basement to the Club Level in an effort to remain unseen. (I'm usually clad in a stiff suite, an extra-starched white blouse and patent-leather heels, so wandering the halls in an elf costume is agonizing.) When the elevator opened and I stepped off, exhaling in relief, I plowed right into an old couple that lives in the building. The two didn't say anything when they saw me, but instead looked at my hat, bewildered, and then at my shoes. The woman asked, confused, "Oh... are you... are you going to the... party?"
Holy cow. She thinks I dress like this for fun? She thinks that when I get an invitation to a five-star party, and it says "festive attire," I go this far? No, lady. I'm here for the kids.
"I'll be decorating cookies with the kids," I said.
"In the Children's Room?"
"Oh, good, good." The couple gave me one more glance, and then the two looked at each other and frowned. They stepped inside the elevator and touched 11; they were going to get ready for the party, I imagined.
Later, the woman came to see me in the Children's Room. She asked me if I volunteered for this. I told her, "Not exactly." (But I totally did.)