It’s the weekend before Hallowe’en.
My son sent me a photo of himself in costume. I think he’s a hammerhead shark, although I can’t be certain. No text accompanied said photo. Imagine goggle eye headgear made of red beer cups, and an open shark mouth painted on neck and chest. My daughter plans a traditional Native American costume. I suppose the pendulum has swung, and dressing in the ceremonial or customary clothing of other cultures is OK again. She’ll look rather fetching, in any case, with her braid the pink/orange/gold of a new copper penny.
I get so nostalgic around this time of year. As a stay-at-home mom I milked Hallowe’en for every last drop of self-expression. Although much of mothering required my stability and endurance, over all, costumes were crazy time. You have an idea? I can’t sew to save my life? No matter! There are 12 glue guns in the cupboard, and more where those came from.
Artifacts persist. I still own so many pieces of colored felt. They earned their place above the washing machine. And only recently did I throw out a beetle back; a foam rubber oval, covered in blue and silver lame, ornamented with puffy paint stripes and felt polka dots. Glue guns, baby, glue guns! With a stapler here and there in a pinch.
I haven’t worn a costume myself since I donned that same beetle back one year. I was running product management in a software-driven business, as is my wont, and my team and I dressed as bugs. Get it? Software bugs? Yeah, I know. We found ourselves hilarious.
Will I ever dress up again? Will you? What on earth would I wear? You? I believe I’m past the age for Sexy Nurse and Slutty Kitty Cat. What remains?
My gardening attire is sufficiently witch-like that I feel no desire for Double, Double, Toil, or Trouble. I certainly don’t want to honor popular culture by dressing as a celebrity, and doubt I could pull off Kim Kardashian anyway.
I think I’d like to go as Queen Of All I Survey. Great excuse to buy that ballgown The Preppy Princess and I have discussed. Or wear the old one in my closet. I could snag a tiara like the ones they wear on, inappropriately, Toddlers and Tiaras. Rent a satin and faux ermine-trimmed cape. Instead of a sceptre, however, I’d carry surveying tools. An area planimeter, perhaps.
At any point I could declare new territory won.
Need I mention that queens need nude patent Louboutins? Sold out never applies to royalty. Trick or Treat, to everyone who participates, and treats to all regardless of culture.