text: But not here.
  
  In spite of my Contagion thief-at-large challenge, I have officially declared this Friday night to be a working-on-my-new-cosplay-outfit for the always exceptional, always competitive New York City Comic-Con night. Because, a cosplayer's got to do what a cosplayer's got to do. Before it's too late. And you're stuck with last year's outfit.
  
  And thus my friends, virtually every single piece of clothing, whether used previously as a cosplay piece or not, is strewn across my bed, dresser, desk and floor, each forming one of twelve or thirteen piles of possibilities.
  
  Given the eclectic accumulation of pieces I glommed from our last LARPing-go-round, now spread out directly before me, it occurs to me I might be able to spare-parts my way into the coolest Edward Scissorhands ever.
  
  Or at least since the original.
  
  And while there is that challenge of the best way to craft the hands, I am thinking I have a plan for that. It involves scissors, lots of scissors, and soldering ...lots of soldering.
  
  Which I don't actually know how to do.
  
  Which is why it is still not a brilliant plan. Yet.
  
  Well that, and also because I really am torn. Part of me wants to step it up, use what I can salvage, trade an extra pair of goggles I have somehow managed to accumulate for an eye patch and go as Franky from Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. I know, not a particularly great movie, but digitally so ahead of its time, and the production design and costume designs are truly standout. I mean, this would be pretty freaking awesome.
  
  But as with most awesomeness, there are potential drawbacks. In this case, the number one drawback is presenting myself as Angelina Jolie. It's a wee bit, ahem, intimidating. Without knowing if Jimmy and Imani will come with me, it feels a bit thin. Now if they would come and be Polly and Sky Captain, it would so rock.
  
  Some cosplay choices just work better as a group.
  
  And yes, I can hear you. I do know I could just ask them, but every now and then I realize I am still adjusting.
  
  Not that I don't think they wouldn't come or something, but it's different. You know, back in the day, when we went as just a bunch of friends, it was easy. We were a trio. Now, we're a two plus one. Which is a very different beast.
  
  So I don't know. Yes, I could ask them, but I'm not sure if I want their answer. If I don't ask, then it's like I'm making a choice. But if I ask and they say no, it's a knife to my heart.
  
  And ping. Thank you, whoever you are.
  
  Plate + 7. TF Commands.
  
  TF Commands. Why yes sir, Mr. Flynn, sir. What the "capital T, capital F" aka The Flynn commands, we minions serve to answer.
  
  My thought was apparently rapidly seconded, and thirded, by the chorus of "thumbs up" pinging. And for a random split second I think, hey maybe I should go ghost, text and say something like I'm busy ...but, even before I finish it, I think who am I kidding? Everyone is fully aware that I have a little Fear Of Missing Out aka FOMO issue, so I think everyone knows I won't be letting them have an emergency meeting without me.
  
  And yet, before I can even ping back, another ping comes through. This time it's only for my eyes. All it says is, "Hey Sid ...Never Leave Your Wingman."
  
  He's quoting Top Gun. The Flynn is freaking quoting Top Gun at me. I don't bother to answer; he knows I'm in.
  
  I look at the piles of clothes, strewn everywhere.
  
  Oh well. Not much to do about that now.
  
  I reach for my wallet.
  
  Shit.
  
  Back to the piles of clothes, diving in, pushing them to either side, not caring as at least half of them hit the floor, until I finally find bottom, unbury my coat and wallet, and race for the front door, yelling out, "Hey Mom, I'm off to meet the gang."
  
  Before I can get the door slammed behind me, her voice calls back, "Curfew, Sid."
  
  Yeah. Yeah. And slamming.