Halloween princess
I’m not very good at Halloween. Maybe a small part of my apathy lies in deep-seeded frugality ingrained in me by my mother. Why would I spend money on clothing I would wear only once? (Like a prom dress.) I definitely do not like camouflage of any sort; I do not like to hide behind masks. Even for only one night. I want to see faces, eyes, expressions, and the truth.
Last year I wore a pink cowgirl hat I’d borrowed from a friend, plain jeans, cowboy boots pulled from my closet, and a paper sheriff’s star that I had cut from a template I found on the internet. I started the night at a party hosted by a hot guy I’d once had a crush on who was really into Halloween. He was decked out in full cowboy regalia that included full leather chaps, a shiny sheriff’s star, and a felt cowboy hat. I could not stop singing to myself, “They have everything for you men to enjoy, You can hang out with all the boys… It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A. ….” He looked like an understudy for the Village People! I do not recall his girlfriend’s costume but I do recall some tense whispering between them soon after I arrived, which prompted me to depart for the next party after throwing back two beers in quick succession and shoving sushi down my gullet.
My ex-husband and I dressed in a couple’s costume once, S&M Gilligan and The Skipper. Obviously, I played the role of Sexy Skipper. I procured outfits for us inspired by the costumes I’d seen at the High Heel Races, which frequently featured innocuous even childlike characters, like Winnie the Pooh and Piglet, adorned with S&M accessories. Handcuffs. Whips. Spiked dog collars. Leashes. Our costumes belied the riff that was growing between us.
The next year, I dressed in some kind of outfit that involved handcuffs, which I had repurposed from the previous year’s three hour tour. My ex and I didn’t attend a party together, though. I went to a party with a single girlfriend without him, ended up being handcuffed to some random cute guy that had been hitting on me all night, and spent 20 minutes struggling to undo the wrist shackles when I misplaced the key at the end of the night.
As a little girl, I remember being a Princess more than once. I liked to pretend I would one day rule the world. My mom had bought me a long pink dress that could also be worn on other occasions. I fashioned a crown made of pink construction paper adorned with a constellation of tiny gold star stickers and a scepter made from a thin wooden dowel topped with a pink construction paper star, also adorned with gold sticker stars.
My best friend Shannon’s mom took her to a nearby neighborhood that was renowned for generous candy distributions. My immigrant mom did not understand Halloween so I was stuck in our stingier neighborhood. My brother and I did well though, filling our orange plastic jack-o-lantern buckets with teeth decaying goodies. I hoarded the Snickers, Butterfingers, and Peanut Butter Cups. I tried to force my little brother to take my SweetTarts in exchange for all his caramel and chocolate candies. A carful of teenagers roared passed my brother and me and threw a raw egg that hit me square on the hip. It hurt. I pretended not to notice and continued down the street with dozens of other children gleefully knocking on doors.
