The Halloween That Almost Isn’t

I’m not much of a Halloween gal. I don’t like horror movies. I honestly don’t get the meaning behind It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. And, I’m not much on Double Bubble and Pop Rocks. I’d say I’m more of a Dia de los Muertos kind of girl, but I know little about my ancestry and it’s been ages since I stepped foot in a cemetery.

I’m more into the glitz and glitter of Christmas and New Year’s.

Do I hear an ugly “ugh” and a deep sigh?

I do like pumpkin flavored coffee creamer and candy corn and I used to go mad over King Don’s Pumpkin Ale. Does that count as festive? Am I back in the club?

I don’t really know why I am not moved by the Halloween spirit. It’s not that I don’t like taking on new identities. I am part of an improv murder mystery troupe in which I have played a reindeer trainer, a millionaire kleptomaniac, a wildly depressed bridesmaid, a terribly bitchy and domineering wife, a dashing poetess, an over-the-top interpretive dance instructor, and a good ole Texas cowgirl to name a few. I have even been electrocuted. And, I loved it. All of those characters.

So, where’s the disconnect? I can’t seem to bridge the gap. Though I costume myself for these murder mystery roles, I am not much fun when it comes to imagining up, designing, or creating Halloween garb. Aside from his first real Halloween costume as a handsome one-year-old Charlie Bucket, my son has always worn cheap store-bought costumes. And I, sadly, have assumed the not-so-theatrical role of the Halloween Scrooge limiting candy intake and wearing a sweater and blue jeans.

Bah, humbug!

And, this Halloween is no different except for the fact that I actually purchased a Halloween tee from Walmart of all places so I had something spirited to wear to work. It seemed like a cute idea—two glittery witch boots and the words “if the shoe fits”—but maybe my inner approaching-dorky-over-the-hilldom alarm should be blaring. This tee is a far cry from, at the very least, adding a block of dry ice to a bowl of green punch. I’m not even that cool.

Maybe my lack of enthusiasm stems from the idea that there is no one grand mythical being tied to Halloween like there is to Christmas, Easter, losing a tooth. Maybe Halloween is too fractured, the fantasy shared between too many creatures, too many wicked personalities vying for the spotlight.

Or maybe, though you’d think I would dig this, “wicked” is the operative word here. Maybe I don’t like the sinister nature of the holiday. I’d rather everything be all sugar plums and shit.

Or, better yet– ohhh, I’ve got it!—I don’t like the idea of tricks or treats. I’d rather just gather treats. No questions, no consequences. I suppose that ties in nicely with my previous post about taking more than my fair share.

I could very well be the Veruca Salt of Holidays. Show me the money.

I should for the record say that I do have some fond Halloween memories.  Once I wrote a scary poem about the smell and slime of my compost bucket and recorded it as the message on my answering machine for the October days leading up to the 31st.  Groovy, huh?

Okay, so I’m wondering why I’m even writing this. If I have a point at all. I’m not really sure. Maybe I’m trying to work out a way to pull, from deep within myself, a twinge of celebratory spirit. I’ve pulled it off before. I mean, I was like all Edward this and Jacob that a few years ago and they were vampire and werewolf. Isn’t that enough? (Ugh and sigh again, eh?)

So, how do I make the most of this Halloween? Do I make a last ditch effort at a costume (I could be, well, a, ummm, person with fake eyelashes and some red lipstick) and make an appearance at any of the happenin’ Halloween parties tomorrow night or do I try to find a copy of Disney’s The Watcher in the Woods (perhaps the most terrifying movie ever made) or Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein and drink something wickedly virgin but laden with pumpkin spice on the couch in my jammies? I am leaning toward the latter, but you never know.

Either way, I won’t be getting carried away unless, I suppose, it is by the hands of ghosts or goblins. I will, however, be pondering my role in Halloweens to come. I will try, through my obsessive self-reflection and need to analyze, to plant the seed for a truly lively evening of identity theft and sugar 365 days from now. Or, perhaps a fervent night of evil and mischief and impishness in 12 months time. Or, better yet, both. Because it will take me that long to come up with a costume.

Happy Halloween Y’all. May you escape the witching hour unscathed.

 

 

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