A glorious
All Hallows’ Eve to one and all, hallowed or otherwise:
Halloween is a time for horror
stories—surely none more terrifying than the horror stories about costumes that
we’ve worn. Whether we were put up to it by someone, lost a bet, were forced to
do it, or made the decision on our own, most of us have had a dreaded
experience putting on a Halloween costume that didn’t quite come off…er, in a
manner of speaking. We who frequent the Fortress of Funitude are no exceptions
to this rule: what follows is a selection of costumes we’ve worn that fall
under the general heading of “it seemed like a good idea at the time”. I yield
the floor to my protégé Sparky’s inamorata and restraining influence, Miss
Moose:
Thanks…we
had a dismal trick-or-treating session a couple of years back, when Sparky
thought it would be a good idea to go out as a fishwife.
As if
the stench of “fresh” haddock and halibut wasn’t bad enough, Sparky decided
that the best way to really get into the spirit of it all was to use a
fishwife’s vocabulary every chance he got. “(Censored) Trick or (Censored) Treat,
you (Censored) (Censored) (Expletive Deleted)” is not necessarily what you want
to open the door to, and didn’t exactly yield us a big catch of goodies.
(Mebbe not, but I learn’d
some more new words worth usin’ at nearly ev’ry house we stopp’d at. –Sparky.)
Mind
you, I have nothing to be proud of myself. The year before that, Sparky
convinced me to go out dressed up as the Great White Coati God of the Maya.
Strangely
enough, most people in this day and age aren’t familiar with Mayan religious
beliefs (other than the crazy crackpot ones about the world coming to an end). I
also know it’s hard to believe that most people don’t know what a coati is, but
there you have it. To make things worse,
I was supposed to be an albino coati. I gave up explaining any of this
after the fifth doorway full of blank stares. I felt like what I looked like—a
raccoon that had been bleached and put through a clothes wringer one time too
many.
(Yeh, but ya kept us
all safe frum attacks by th’ lords of th’ Mayan underworld Xibalba. –Sparky.)
When it comes to costumes that don’t
exactly speak for themselves, though, Science Boy is our resident expert. One
Halloween he went out as the calandria from a heavy-water-moderated nuclear
reactor.
As a dues-paying unionized witch, Milady
Madeira M’Dear is contractually obligated to work (at time-and-a-half) on
Halloween, but that doesn’t mean she can’t play dress-up like the rest of the
non-magic-practising hoi polloi.
Yes indeedy, sweetie…even with magic on my side, I’ve had my fair
share of costume woes. Shape-shifting spells are considered cheating (I never
could get the hang of them anyway), which means I have to deal with the same
preconceived notions about my wardrobe options as any other fuller-figured gal.
I try to think outside the box…or rack…or fitting room, or whatever it is you
think outside of when it comes to clothes, but I still get flak for some of my
choices—like one Halloween when I dressed up as Judy Jetson.
You
got no complaints from me, M’Dear. Personally, I thought the problem that year
was the way the “Jetsons” theme as a whole was handled. Sparky should’ve
dressed up as Elroy, not Henry Orbit, the whimsically addle-pated caretaker—and
Moose as Rosie the robot maid was an accident looking for one place after
another to happen.
(Tell
me about it…two words, Sparky—eye holes. –Moose.)
(I thot ya wuz
s’pos’d ta see usin’ diodes er sumpin’. –Sparky.)
As
for myself, my costume choices are invariably bang-on. One I do refrain
from wearing around the easily frightened, however, is my inimitable and
uncanny rendition of The Headless Horseman from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”.
This sort of costuming to type doesn’t always
get the best results for everyone. Count Boguslav Boguslavsky, the manager of the Ashcan
Club, figured he was a natural to dress up as an interpretation of William
Blake’s classic poem “The Tyger”:
That was enough to get a rise out of even
Frank the Alligator, the Ashcan Club’s contrarian bartender. Ordinarily he
shuns frivolity, in case it might be catching. I suspect that Frank’s policy of
being against everything until it gives him a better reason to be against it will
extend to costumes once again this year.
To thine own self be true, Frank. As for
the rest of you…don’t take candy from anyone who asks for ID…at least, not
without getting a receipt.
Uncle Fun
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