The Mask (Without Jim Carrey).
It was with much
sadness – or possibly relief – that I resigned my gimp mask to the bin
today.
Yes, that’s right, my gimp mask. I own a gimp mask. Actually, I’ll rephrase that: I owned a gimp mask. Until today. When I resigned it to the bin (see above).
Before you start to worry, I’d like to reassure you that I didn’t buy it for sexy reasons; nor did I purchase it to keep my face toasty on those cold winter nights. It was acquired as a prop for a Doggett and Ephgrave sketch (which at time of writing has received a measly seventy-eight views on YouTube) and has lived in my flat ever since; a largely unseen one minute and fifty-three seconds of comedy that led to me storing an item that made me uncomfortable each time I saw it – which wasn’t often, as it was usually on my head.
Yes, that’s right, my gimp mask. I own a gimp mask. Actually, I’ll rephrase that: I owned a gimp mask. Until today. When I resigned it to the bin (see above).
Before you start to worry, I’d like to reassure you that I didn’t buy it for sexy reasons; nor did I purchase it to keep my face toasty on those cold winter nights. It was acquired as a prop for a Doggett and Ephgrave sketch (which at time of writing has received a measly seventy-eight views on YouTube) and has lived in my flat ever since; a largely unseen one minute and fifty-three seconds of comedy that led to me storing an item that made me uncomfortable each time I saw it – which wasn’t often, as it was usually on my head.
In January, I had cause to breathe a sigh of relief, when a friend who lives in Wales asked to
borrow it for a fancy dress party (these being the sort of people I
knock about with). I could finally sleep soundly, knowing my terrifying
leather helmet was a good three hours’ drive away. That was until the beginning
of this week, when my friend kindly (or unkindly) sent it back. The darkened
cowhide sex-hood resided in North Herts once again.
This morning, I decided to take evasive action. No sooner had the bin lorry pulled into my street, than the gimp mask was out. I’ve no idea of the degradation rate of leather goods, but let’s hope it decomposes on the rubbish dump before long. If it doesn’t, the seagulls will be in for a shock.
(Except they won’t, because they won’t know what it is.)
P.S. My friend slipped this postcard into the package with the mask, which I loved for its incongruousness. Or maybe the 'S' and 'M' of 'S&M' stand for 'Snowdon' and 'mountain-railway' respectively.
This morning, I decided to take evasive action. No sooner had the bin lorry pulled into my street, than the gimp mask was out. I’ve no idea of the degradation rate of leather goods, but let’s hope it decomposes on the rubbish dump before long. If it doesn’t, the seagulls will be in for a shock.
(Except they won’t, because they won’t know what it is.)
P.S. My friend slipped this postcard into the package with the mask, which I loved for its incongruousness. Or maybe the 'S' and 'M' of 'S&M' stand for 'Snowdon' and 'mountain-railway' respectively.
