Halloweeeeeeen
Halloween is hanging heavily over my head right now. Personal bests
include last year's charred and feathered Icarus costume, as well
as the reindeer costume I made my mother create when I was nine. Not
such greatest hits involve several years as a generic actress/model
before specializing as Cindy Crawford (age 12), with mole and requisite
Pepsi can/endorsement, and that year in London, where nobody celebrates
Halloween, and I went to bed at 9.
I really shouldn't be thinking too hard about this.
Halloween is just an excuse for girls to get naked and walk
around in body glitter. The virgin-slut angel! The virgin-slut nurse!
The virgin-slut (fill in with ghoul and/or low-paying female
occupation)!
This year is going to call for some imagination though. Perhaps
something with a twinge more reality--a prostitute trying to get
clean? A district attorney? My best friend's grandmother battling
athritis?
Or maybe something more existential. I could wear gray and go as
the depressed soul of our nation. This costume could double as
"Writer's Block" or "Several Particles Of Atomic Matter."
Maybe I could have it both ways, paint myself in body glitter, and
be "The Extravagant Universe."
Meghan
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