Monday, November 1, 2010


I struggled, mightily, this year, to find inspiration for a Halloween costume. Several obvious things came to mind, including being a stink bug, (since, if you can't beat 'em, join ' house, neighborhood, town have been overtaken this fall. I now shower, pee, sleep, etc in the ever presence of these little friends). But I just couldn't seem to get off my proverbial duff and make something happen. At the 11th hour on Sunday, I skittered over to the Halloween "Store" you know, one of those pop up jobbers that has just about everything for the month prior to the big Haunting, and, lo and behold, they were down to 50% off! Sweet. I headed in committed to making some kind of decision.

You know where this is going, right? You already know that I marched in there, open to possibility only to have my hopes dashed because I just cannot pay good money to dress like a slut. Not even 50% off kind of money.

Apparently, you cannot just dress up as a policeman or firefighter, or Dororthy from Kansas, you have to sport some sort of two bit trash whore version thereof, with your boobs pushed up and out of the front and your arse hanging out of the back. I'm sorry, but the Wizard of Oz would have taken one look at THAT Dorothy and sent her home to change into something respectable. Shiney shoes or no!

There was not a reasonable costume to be had in the entire joint. Unless I wanted to dress as a man, of course, in which case my choices were Vampire, Werewolf, or Serial Killer or some sort of variation thereof, all of which prey on sluts, so at least the industry is consistent, oddly, in its mission.

I came home, costume free and disappointed, and proceeded into the evening sporting my go-to back up ensemble...middle aged mommy. It's a real crowd pleaser, trust me.

At least, I thought to myself, my kids are immune to this nonsense. My son went as the Fonz, from Happy Days, and his biggest problem was that none of his peer group has any clue who the Fonz is, so that was disappointing. (Not unlike, for those of you who watch network TV and saw the Halloween episode from The Middle, where Brick goes as a Scottish war hero .... I think Brick and my son are twins separated at birth sometimes.) And my daughter was going as bat girl in a costume she had crafted herself, so that had to be pretty safe. I was downstairs, perched on my high horse when she appeared ready to be driven to her party. In her tulle bustier and 3 inch ankle boots.

I know they say that when you fall off a horse, you need to get right back on again to prove whose the boss, but, clearly, it's not me. I give up.

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