I’m looking at Peter Pan costumes on Amazon tonight. This, after my daughter told me that “anything princess will be infantile or slutty.”

The occasion is a blogging conference that I’m attending later this month in Atlanta. The first night features a reception hosted by Disney and from all the back and forth on Facebook it sounds like all us conferees are expected to show up in costume. Disney-oriented costumes. So, no, I can’t go as Groucho Marx which is a drag because it was my favorite costume of all time. I don’t have the wild hair anymore though so it wouldn’t have quite the same artfully disheveled look.

I had a fright wig and a pretty good clown outfit for a long time but the jacket involved a slew of political buttons that would set off all the TSA tickers. Plus no one at the conference would understand the buttons. The group seems to skew a bit young. I’m not sure they know that the peace sign was about an actual war and not just a fashion accessory. I kid. They know.

Anyway, there are two issues about this Disney party. The first is going. The second is going in costume.

Going will require that I walk in without a date. I’m a pretty extreme introvert and partially deaf, a terrific party-going combo. So going to this soiree will pretty much require that I completely change my personality by a week from Friday. Basically I need to pretend I’m somebody else.

Wait! I could pretend I was Peter Pan! Or Mary Martin being Peter Pan.

I used to think that after childbirth I could do anything. Now I think that if I can put on a Peter Pan costume and walk into a giant room throbbing with people dressed up as Disney characters and not turn around and run back to my hotel room in thirty seconds, I can do anything.

I already had a baby, right? I’ve got nothing to prove.