Oh, I love Halloween. I love dressing up and going out and looking at everyone else who has dressed up and gone out and we are all going “woo!” outside, dressed up, and maybe we are enjoying a beverage but mostly we are enjoying the fact that we are dressed up, outside, and going "woo!" Also, candy. CANDY.
Of course, this year I cannot have candy (though I have enjoyed longingly snuffling big bags of Fun Size Kit-Kats), and this year I do not have plans to go anywhere or do anything, and both of those things are very sad things that put tragedy in my heart and wistfulness in my soul. Oh, candy. Oh, going outside all dressed up and going “woo!” Oh, candy.
It is especially sad this year, because this year I’ve got a costume
that I actually enjoy. Most years I have a costume that I thought I
would enjoy, but turns out to be a costume of sadness that makes no
sense, or is kind of lame, or makes no sense and is kind of lame and no
one understands it, but that’s okay because I’ve got candy. Memorable
instances include the year I decided to go as a Freudian slip. I got a
slip. And you’d think that’s where it would end. Except I decided to
add fishnet stockings. And a wig, for some reason. And that I would use
makeup to make myself look all bruised and battered, because get it? I
slipped? I thought it was brilliant, right up until the point where my
fishnets were falling down, my wig was itchy, my shoes hurt so much
(maybe they are the reason I slipped? Ha!) and no one understood why my
face was all—are those bruises? Okay. Uh?
I wore it to work. Everyone was confused. It was slightly embarrassing.
So when we went out that night, to a bar around the corner, I changed
into my nightgown and robe, and called myself a formerly battered
housewife, out on bail. It was a hit, and sitting in a bar in your
robe? I recommend it highly. Comfy cozy! But generally and overall:
One year I went as a mad scientist. Mad scientists have messy pigtails,
and blood running down their faces! And they wear rubber kitchen
gloves, apparently, and a lab coat that wouldn’t actually scorch
attractively and was, once again, really itchy. I loved the blood,
though. So I left the coat at home, and went to a tattoo convention.
When I got to my friend’s booth, the guy at the table looked up, did a
double take, and said, “Oh—are you okay? Because you’re bleeding. Did
you know you’re bleeding?” And I enjoyed that. But my costume? Was fail.
Last year I decided I wanted to be comfortable. I was not fooling
around with makeup, or big shoes, or anything fancy, and so I got a
blue dress, and little devil horns, and I was a devil in a blue dress.
Get it? Comedy! I love me the comedy, and I believe puns are the
highest form of humor. Hi-larious! (Please see the photo above;
pictured is also Weetabix, in her insanely awesome Hello Kitty costume
of doom.) I wore red flats, and I owned comfortable red fishnets, and
my dress was mostly blue and my hair was very red, and there was my
costume. That nobody understood. And there was sadness. At least I was
comfortable in my sadness, and not like the guy who was stumbling
around dressed up as a
katamari, which non-nerds will understand as a costume composed of a
giant, full-body ball of Styrofoam and uncomfortable sweatiness, as
well as a lack of sitting down, drinking a beverage, or relieving one’s
So that was my comfy, unsexy costume. And I always swore, in my less
body-positive fat years, that the second I achieved the mystical future
point at which I was magically skinny, nothing would stop me from
wearing the most awesome Halloween costume of all time, because only
skinny people can wear Halloween costumes properly? Or something? I
don’t know what I was thinking. But it is funny, and possibly ironic,
that the year I am (not magically) skinnier, I have assembled a
completely androgynous costume that pretty much covers me chin to toes.
I will be a pirate in a knee-length coat, and I’ve got a hilariously
ruffled-front shirt, and there are boots and leggings and I will draw a
mustache and wear an excellent hat, and I could not be happier. Unless
I were actually going somewhere besides work. Damnit. Candy?