We just got back from looking for a Halloween costume for Cara. It was a bust.
She was sort of interested in being a skeleton that had blood dripping from it's teeth--very sweet for a 9-year-old--or something that carries a giant sickle. She didn't get too far with that idea before I quashed it. And, since I don't want her to wear one of the "hot devil" or "pop star" outfits that show as much skin as Tyra Banks does in the picture that's been on the Yahoo! home page for nearly a week, we are currently out of luck.
Cara's informed me she doesn't want to be a witch again. She was a witch for two years, and then last year she was Hermione from Harry Potter. "WHO IS A WITCH! DUH!," she yells at me. At this point, I'm ready to cut up a white sheet and scrawl BOO on the front of it with a Sharpie. Which would actually have a kind of retro appeal...if you're lazy.
Ryan is Batman. Last year he was Superman. We're on track to run through all the super heroes. I just don't want him to be Robin, because, really, besides quotes like, "Holy popcorn, Batman!," he wasn't really a keeper.
One of my brothers and his wife are having a Halloween party the week before Halloween. They get really into it--decorating their house, getting really awesome costumes that cost more that $3, which is about how much Mike and I put forth. I'm into the Halloween dress-up, I just hate trying to figure out something to wear. And, given that I don't even like shopping for real clothes, shopping for a costume goes against my grain. Plus, there's all that pressure to wear something different each year.
I think if I were smart, I'd come up with one thing, and stick with it. And then every year, everyone would look forward to "Cath as the buck-toothed rat," or "Cath as the hard-boiled egg." After half a decade of this, people would anticipate Halloween just to see if I would show up in something else. There would be a kind of red-carpet excitement to it. "What will she be wearing this year? Do you think she'll blaze a new Halloween fashion trail?" And then I'll show up as the hard-boiled egg again. How very "Happy Days" it could be.
Mike, of course, can not BELIEVE that he even has to consider dressing up. But, as someone who never drinks ("why acquire the taste for alcohol when you can just have a Coke?") and prefers the company of his computer to real people, he can't believe he actually has to SHOW up, nevermind dress up. Every year he does the minimum required to gain admittance to the party. Like wearing his Jets jersey with my black eyeliner smudged under his eyes. Or wearing his black leather jacket with Elvis sunglasses that had cheesy sideburns attached to them. One of the sideburns has since fallen off, so I suggested that this year, he wear the Elvis shades with the one sideburn, his football jersey and a "Supa Fro" wig. Because if you can't be something identifiable, you may as well make a jackass out of yourself.
My friend A. is having a party ON Halloween. That could go one of two ways--either the parents catch a nice drinking buzz and end up trick-or-treating for 12 straight hours, or they get nice and ripped and bag trick-or-treating altogether. A., of course, is the one who had the pogo-stick party a couple of weeks ago. (See previous blog) Things always start out genteel-ly enough, but one thing leads to another, and then adults are prying pogo-sticks from the hands of disbelieving children in an alcohol-fueled effort to prove their youthfulness to a bunch of onlookers who couldn't give a damn. Halloween, for those of you who don't have kids and haven't been planning around the holiday for the last two months, is Sunday this year. A. has informed us that with the Halloween party, "Doors open at 12:30." That means that by about 3:30, kids can point and say, "Look, that guy's going as a pizza." Because sticking a pizza box on your head makes as much sense as any other costume when you've downed enough Milky Ways and margueritas."
...Yes, another misty, water-colored memory.
--Catherine Schetting Salfino
