Dennis

At first, it was even, but then the woman with the Chinese dress was left behind, then the man was left behind and it was very clearly between me and the elf. Then I saw my votes surge past hers. When it ended I had one by a landslide.

“Congratulations, Dennis Kingsmen!” The announcer says. The other three leave the stage and the announcer comes over and hands me a tiny little trophy that says best costume on it. “Now give us your best smile!” A photographer is standing to the left of the stage and I turn towards him. I know that this photo will end up in the upcoming town newspaper as a fluff piece that’s done every year. I desperately don't want a photo of me as a baby girl accompanying the story, but I know I can't avoid it. So I give my best smile and hold up the trophy as he takes the picture. I then return to my wife as I hear the announcer start the next contest, this time for the best DIY costume.

“Congratulations on your victory, honey,” Macy says, “Mommy’s so proud of her little girl.” She gives me a snarky grin. As the next contest goes on, other people start to flock towards us. Before I thought it was bad, but now that I had won the best costume contest everyone wanted to take pictures with the man dressed as a baby girl.

“Excuse me, baby,” Macy says. She said baby not like how you’d say it to a partner, but how you’d say it to a child. “I have to go to the bathroom, but I’m sure you’ll be okay with all these nice fine people on your own.”

Currently, there is a gaggle of three women fawning over me and one of them says, “Don’t worry. Your little girl’s in safe hands,” and all of them giggle.

One of the ones in front of me says, “I wish I had a husband who looked as cute as you do in a dress.”

One in a maid costume goes behind me, but one of the other ones distracts me by saying, “No man looks as good as he does in a dress,” and she giggles at me. Behind me, I hear a weird squeaking sound. I look over my shoulder and see the one in the maid costume kneeling behind me. She is rebuttoning the flaps under my dress and she caps a marker. The other women in front of me seem bored now and they leave.

The woman in the maid outfit behind me gets up, puts her face right next to my ear and whispers, “I know you have a wife, but if you ever want someone else to change your diaper give me a call. You’re just my type and I left my name and number on your diaper.” She then disappears into the crowd. I swore to myself then that no matter what I would not go to the bathroom while at the party for fear of my wife seeing I let another woman write on my diaper.

My wife returns and asks, “You good? It’s been a while. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”