Friday, October 28, 2005

Adults should be able to trick or treat for cash prizes.

L: “Here’s the invitation to the costume party.”
pg: “It’s tonight and it’s a theme.”
L: “Yeah.”

Why do men wait until the absolute last minute to tell you things?
Now, I’m trying to figure out what to wear. Obviously, trying to make a couple oriented themed costume is not doable. The theme is gangsta pimp/ho. My idea of pimp and tranny, didn’t fly. Personally, I’d think it would be a great costume but others, mainly the man who would have to dress like a tranny, didn’t.

Every Halloween, I try to dress up. I usually plan it in advance. This year, I have no plans whatsoever. I’ve been busy with so many other things that it’s the least on my mind. Usually, I try to dress up the front door and the foyer for the kids but again, Mothra has not crept in.

I think the real issue is that Halloween falls on a Monday this year. It’s hard to get excited about Halloween on a work night.

I believe I’ve officially hit that adult phase in life where all holidays have a dollar sign linked to it. Halloween = cash for candy, costumes, decorations. Easter = cash for candy, food and decorations.

Usually, by now, I’ve stock piled a ration of candy to keep the kids in my building on a sugar rush for days. I have three days before Halloween and I have one semi eaten bag of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Nuggets with Almonds. Most kids don’t usually like dark chocolate, right?

Tomorrow, after my doctor’s appointment and before the Halloween festivities for the kids, I’m going to haul butt to Duane Reade and weed through the picked through for some decent candy.

Do you remember when you went trick or treating? It could have been 20 below, yet we still wanted to go to another row of houses to get more candy. Our mothers and fathers would be huddled next to our kid sibling’s carriages trying to warm themselves up with a cup of thermos coffee. If they were lucky, someone brought Irish coffee.

For three years in a row I dressed up as Hollie Hobby. Hollie Hobby for those who are too young or just a guy, was the poor man’s Laura Ingalls. For those who wondered, yes it was one of those cheap 70’s plastic pullover sheathes with the foul smelling, head cutting, plastic face masks.

I hated that mask. Every time I exhaled, the condensation would pool in the nose area of the mask. Did I mention it smelt like plastic? I recall making a mental note to never give my future child a mask as hideous and uncomfortable.

After three years of wearing what I deemed a choking device, I changed costumes. On a side note, I apologize to my cousin who was handed down this monstrosity. It was years after anyone knew who Hollie Hobby was but my mother and her mother felt a costume was a costume. Sorry about that.

I went through a succession of costumes, the most embarrassing was a leopard outfit my mother forced me to wear to a costume contest. My little brother and I both wore matching leopard cub outfits. They were finally crafted. My mother spent hours sewing and stuffing batting into the ears to make them perky. Then she went batting crazy and made a tail that was obscenely long and obscenely hard.

Throughout the night, my mother kept making us take pictures together. Of course, we couldn’t just leave the tails dragging on the floor. Her hard work had to be seen in the photos so she made us hold these phallic looking tails in our hands. Bored and clearly looking for attention, my brother began sticking the tail between his legs. To this day, my mother has a photo of us dressed as the cubs on her piano. My husband finds it absolutely humorous and even suggested this be our childhood photo in our wedding invitations.

I have no idea what happened to that costume but I’m pretty sure my mother has it stashed away in the attic somewhere. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a kid and she’ll surprise me with it. Better still, my cousin can return the Hollie Hobby costume.