Costume Drama

I was halfway between the feta cheese and the Lean Cuisines when I saw them. Fairy princesses. Grinning ghouls. Menacing vampires. No, not the cast of "Twilight", the Halloween costumes at the grocery store. For the next week or so, I can get cat food, granola bars and glow-in-the-dark fangs in one convenient stop. We never had store-bought costumes when I was a kid; my costumes were always homemade. Or, more accurately, cobbled together from bits of things we had in the house on or around October 29th, either because Mom was working nights or I kept changing my mind. I don't remember many of my costumes, and photo albums from my childhood don't appear to have a single picture of me in one. Unless I went as Dad's thumb a bunch of times. However, I know I went trick or treating every year, because I had the cavities to prove it.

One Halloween I do remember quite vividly was the year I went as a bat. Black leotards, black turtleneck, black felt wings with loops that went on my wrists so I could be all swoopy. Think I was about five. Granted, the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that my mother, as usual, made me wear a winter jacket over everything. Oh how I wished for Halloween to be at a more temperate time of year, say, August. How many awesome costumes have been sabotaged by Mother Nature and goose down? Thankfully, I was allowed to take the jacket off at the end of each drive, so I did get my Batgirl on between the curb and the doorstep, at least.

Starting around age nine, I pretty much had the same request every year; I really wanted to go as an only child, but Mom insisted my little brother got to go, too. Like it wasn't already bad enough that our house didn't take seniority into account when it came to candy distribution. And I was always a bit miffed that my parents refused to drop us off at the huge subdivision a six minute drive away. They thought my eternal quest for a 5 pillowcase candy haul was a bit greedy. I'm still bitter. Do you know how many extra teeny tiny Wunderbars that would have meant?

There were more than a few years when I was some sort of gypsy/fortune- teller. Basically, this involved going into Mom's closet or Nanny's fabric bag, coming out dressed like Stevie Nicks, and then adding a bandanna. Stevie's a pretty versatile starting point, truth be told. Add an eyepatch and a plastic sword and you're a pirate. Add a pointy hat and a broom, you're a witch. Add giant sunglasses and lose half your body weight, you're Nicole Richie.

I probably stopped going door to door when I was about 12, but I did go to a few costume dances in high school. Not being the sort of girl with the sort of mother who would ever let me dress as something tarty, I once went as a bag of dill pickle potato chips. If you've ever found yourself thinking "These yoga pants are comfy, but I wonder what it'd be like to put on a turtleneck and tights and then add a burlap sack that's been covered with aluminum foil", I can save you some time. Imagine you're a baked potato. Now imagine you're a baked potato experiencing a fairly severe case of hives. While standing in a dimly-lit gym listening to Debbie Gibson and REO Speedwagon. My mom's tart-free plan wasn't perfect though, because I'm pretty sure some of the guys who came to the dance stoned were checking me out.

Halloween during my late teens and early 20s was a magical time, a time when mini chocolate bars were replaced by alcohol. Admittedly, there's a better than average chance that black lipstick, stripey tights and pointy hats were a semi-regular part of my university wardrobe all-year round. One awesome costume was the Bride of Frankenstein. Luckily, I hung out with actors, so theatrical makeup was easy to come by. Unluckily, greasepaint comes by its name honestly. Know why there are so many sad clowns? Because they have lard on their faces. Greasepaint lightning bolts in my hair wasn't the best idea I've ever had. They looked great, but it took a week, about 20 shampoos and some vinegar to get the stuff out. Grunge was big then, so I hope it seemed like a stylistic choice rather than witching hour stupidity.

I've never really had the type of relationship, or the type of personality, where you dress in "couples costumes". Tarzan and Jane, Sonny and Cher, Salt and Pepper. Or Salt 'n Pepa, for that matter. I do recall one party where I went as a suspicious girlfriend and the guy I was seeing went as a cheating jerk, but I don't think it was in October. I have, however, been part of a group costume, where we all dressed as different coloured crayons. I was the purple one. Pretty easy costume to make, but take heed if you're planning on attaching lettering to your crayon. "Hot-Glue-Gun-Blister Pink" is not a colour I ever hope to see in a Crayola 64 box. And it made it really hard to hold my beer.

This year, I'm going to a party. My costume will be comfortable, topical, and hopefully easy to assemble. I can't say what it is, but my mother will be happy to know it's about as far from slutty as I can get. And if I can't find everything I need, I'll just dig out the old Stevie Nicks gear. Everyone loves a good gypsy fortune-teller pirate witch.